


concerto for two (hopeless hearts just passing through)

by spilled_notes



Series: concerto for two [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/F, Music, Slow Burn, background Raf/Fletch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: Bernie Wolfe arrives at Holby Community School to cover history teaching for one term. Serena Campbell has been Head of Music for as long as many members of staff can remember. If, when they first met on the playground one chilly January morning, someone had told them that by the end of the term they would be the best of friends they might have been a little surprised. If someone had told them that by the end of the school year Bernie would be an integral member of Serena’s department they certainly would. And if someone had told them that almost a year later they would wake up in bed together? Well, then they’d probably have called you mad. But music has a way of drawing people together – even if there is a series of imperfect and interrupted cadences along the way.





	1. Term Three (January-February)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another slow burn AU! This one's been in the works for a while and most of it is already written (and the rest is planned out). I'll be updating twice a week, probably on Wednesdays and Sundays (carefully timed in order to be able to post the final, Christmassy chapters at the right time!).  
> Advance warning: chapters follow the structure of the school year so are very uneven in length.

‘Don’t even think about it, Adele.’

The unfamiliar voice, firm and clear, cuts across the end of breaktime hubbub in the playground before Serena has chance to open her mouth. She watches in surprise and satisfaction as the reprimanded pupil – a notorious troublemaker and serial ignorer of teachers – stops what she was doing and performs at least a good impression of behaving herself, then turns around to find the source of the rebuke. Striding towards her, long pale coat billowing around her legs as she dodges knots of students, is a tall, slender woman with a mess of wavy blonde hair, carrying a stack of exercise books.

‘I’m impressed,’ Serena says quietly. ‘Adele rarely listens to those of us she actually knows, let alone a supply teacher.’

‘Oh I’m not supply, I’m a history teacher,’ the woman says, juggling her books and sticking out a hand. ‘Bernie Wolfe.’

‘Ah yes, Ric’s cover while he’s off sunning himself in Australia,’ Serena nods, shifting her own burden to take the proffered hand.

‘I thought he was on an exchange or sabbatical or something,’ Bernie frowns.

‘Well technically, yes,’ Serena concedes. ‘But really I think it was just an excuse to avoid as much of winter as possible. Sorry I wasn’t there in staff briefing this morning. Serena Campbell, Head of Music and Deputy Head.’

‘Oh, I know who you are,’ Bernie smiles.

‘You do?’ Serena frowns, panicking slightly at the implication that she should recognise her, that they’ve already met and she’s somehow forgotten her.

‘I did skim the staff list, and Mr Hanssen mentioned you. Plus the xylophone you’re carrying is a bit of a giveaway.’

‘Ah yes, yes of course,’ Serena says, relieved. ‘Two lessons into the new term and already we have a casualty of Year Eight.’

Bernie steps closer and peers at the instrument, following Serena’s gaze to the snapped notepeg.

‘Just off to charm our DT technician into fixing it for me,’ Serena explains.

‘With a smile like that I’m sure you won’t have any trouble,’ Bernie says, and Serena blushes slightly. ‘Sorry, would you just– Adele! Don’t make me put you in detention on the first day of term. Get off to your next lesson.’

‘I’m impressed you can already remember your students’ names,’ Serena says as they watch Adele and her group of friends scurry out of sight.

‘I haven’t even taught her yet,’ Bernie admits with a laugh. ‘But news like Adele gets around fast.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Serena says grimly.

‘I, uh, I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of S7 could you? I’m supposed to be covering a lesson in there and haven’t quite got my bearings yet.’

‘I’ll show you, I’ve got to pass the Science block as it is,’ Serena smiles.

They fall into stride, and Serena points out Bernie’s classroom to her.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Serena says as they part. ‘I’m sure our paths will cross again.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ Bernie smiles. ‘Good luck with the xylophone.’

‘Thanks,’ Serena replies. She watches Bernie disappear inside S7 and then heads on her way, still thinking about the new teacher, still smiling as she steps into the wood-scented DT block.

*

They don’t meet again until the following Friday. In between they’ve seen each other across the staff room, have caught each other’s eye and exchanged smiles – and Bernie has heard Serena’s rehearsals when she’s passed the music block at lunchtimes – but nothing more.

Bernie is slipping away early: she doesn’t have a class last lesson and hasn’t been assigned cover, has decided she can review Ric’s notes and finalise next week’s lesson plans just as well at home in front of the TV with a glass of wine and her cat as she can in her classroom. As she crosses the car park she hears a raised voice, looks around to identify the source and spots the Head of Music on her phone, standing beside an open car bonnet.

‘Which part of _I need my car today_ are you struggling to understand? Hello?’

Bernie walks closer as Serena glares at her phone and sighs in frustration.

‘Engine been growling or whining?’

Serena turns around and raises her eyebrows at Bernie. ‘Mechanic as well as a history teacher?’ she asks hopefully.

‘Afraid not.’

‘Shame,’ Serena mutters. ‘My daughter’s going to kill me. I’m supposed to be going to see her in an am dram production of Les Mis, which promises to be only slightly less excruciating than her reaction when she finds out I won’t be there.’

‘I can give you a lift to the station, if that’s any help?’ Bernie offers.

‘Oh no, no I couldn’t.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Bernie insists.

‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all, I’d like to help. You can make whatever calls you need to from the car.’

*          *          *

Serena groans almost indecently at her first sip of coffee, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

‘You sound like you needed that,’ Bernie says beside her, adding a splash of milk to her mug.

She follows Serena to sit in the same cluster of chairs as her fellow music teacher Raf, who offers Bernie a smile before returning to his conversation with a couple of teachers Bernie thinks are from maths. They’ve sat together at break a few times since Bernie rescued Serena from her daughter’s wrath, have started getting to know each other, and Bernie already prefers her company to that of the other humanities teachers.

‘Tortured tuned percussion coming out of my ears,’ Serena laments. ‘What I wouldn’t give for a couple of quiet, book-based lessons.’

‘Bad day?’ Bernie guesses, offering Serena one of the chocolate digestives she snagged from the tin.

‘So far I’ve had one lesson of Year Eight blues songwriting – and you should read their lyrics, I mean really, what do they teach them in English these days? – and one Year Seven lesson during which I swear they managed to use every percussion instrument in the room. One of the boys even managed to entirely deconstruct a vibraslap – don’t ask me how, to be honest I’m actually quite impressed by the effort it must have taken him. If only he could put the same amount of effort into his work.’

‘And does the rest of the day offer any improvement?’

Serena laughs mirthlessly. ‘Another Year Seven class. Then I get to spend my lunchtime corralling a fifty odd strong choir of yet more Year Sevens, if I’m lucky snatch five minutes to wolf down – aha, pun not intended – some lunch before bashing my head against a brick wall trying to get our Year Tens to demonstrate even the slightest bit of interest in Bach. Not forgetting orchestra, of course, where at least half of them won’t have had their instrument out of its case since last week.’

‘Wow,’ Bernie manages. ‘Wednesday not your favourite day, then?’

‘You could say that,’ Serena mutters, finishing her biscuit.

‘I’d offer to swap, if you’d prefer the civil rights movement followed by the Cuban Missile Crisis.’

‘Sorry, you really didn’t want to hear all that.’

‘It’s fine,’ Bernie smiles. ‘More than fine. We all need a good complain sometimes.’

They fall silent, sip their coffee as the hubbub of the staff room washes over them.

‘I meant it,’ Bernie says when the bell goes and they stand up, Serena with a heavy sigh.

‘What, about swapping lessons with me?’ Serena teases.

‘About it being ok. If you ever want to talk, or to offload or rant or whatever, you know where to find me.’

‘Thank you,’ Serena smiles.

‘You’re very welcome.’

As she watches Serena walk away Bernie wonders why she made that offer, because she’s never been one for that sort of thing. But Serena is easy to talk to, even easier to listen to.

 _And if her speaking voice is that lovely,_ Bernie thinks, _then I wonder what her singing voice is like?_

She catches sight of Serena through the window, returns her wave and smile and finds herself hoping Serena will take her up on her offer.

*

There’s an unfamiliar knock on Bernie’s classroom door at 3.40 the following afternoon.

‘Yes?’ she calls, not taking her eyes from the essay she’s marking.

‘Hope I’m not interrupting?’

It’s Serena, and Bernie feels a smile stretch her mouth wide.

‘Not at all. I could do with a break, I’ve been at these since lunch.’

‘Free this afternoon? You lucky thing you.’

‘And no cover, for a change,’ Bernie says, putting down her pen (green not red, as per departmental preference) and stretching her arms above her head. ‘Tea?’

‘That would be lovely,’ Serena smiles.

‘Won’t be a minute. No, you stay here,’ she tells Serena, pulling out a chair for her. ‘I imagine you’ve been on your feet most of the afternoon, and I certainly haven’t.’

She comes back with a mug of tea in each hand and the end of a packet of custard creams held between her teeth, drags a plastic classroom chair around to sit opposite Serena.

‘So, better day today?’

*          *          *

‘Why does your coffee smell so much better than mine?’ Bernie asks, frowning, as she flops into the chair between Serena and Raf.

It’s becoming usual, now, for her to sit with them rather than her own department – Sacha and Essie, Dom and Malick and Chantelle. It feels a little odd to be becoming an adopted member of the music department – but then Arthur, Serena’s youngest colleague, also teaches a couple of history lessons and spends most of his break times sat with Dom, so perhaps this is some form of balance asserting itself.

‘Because it is,’ Serena replies, smirking as Bernie leans closer and inhales deeply.

‘How?’

Serena just quirks her eyebrow, takes a sip and smiles in satisfaction. But when Bernie sips from her own mug and her brow creases further she feels a twinge of – what? Guilt? Regret? A desire to share? – that none of her other colleagues’ jealousy has ever prompted. Before she can explain she spots Henrik hovering in the doorway; he catches her eye, and with an internal sigh Serena nods at him.

‘Got to go,’ she apologises.

‘Without revealing your source of high quality caffeine?’ Bernie almost whines.

‘A girl’s got to have some mystery,’ Serena replies with a wink.

*

Bernie slumps further into her chair, long legs stretched out in front of her, closes her eyes and sighs heavily.

‘Bad day?’ Serena asks quietly, sitting beside her. When Bernie opens her eyes she offers her a hob nob.

‘Thanks,’ Bernie mutters, biting off half before she answers. ‘Had my worst Year Eight class followed by chemistry cover, and I’ve got Hanssen observing me before lunch.’

‘Ouch,’ Serena grimaces. And then she holds out her mug. ‘Here, I think your need is greater than mine.’

Bernie stares at her in disbelief, only takes the mug when Serena practically pushes it into her hand.

‘God that’s good.’

‘I long ago persuaded the lovely Lou to make me a special cafetiere,’ Serena confides in a low voice. ‘But don’t go spreading that around now, will you.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ Bernie guarantees. ‘If you promise to spare me a sip every now and then.’

‘You drive a hard bargain, Ms Wolfe,’ Serena teases, eyes sparkling as she watches a contented smile spread across Bernie’s face.

The next day, between meetings and admin in her role as Deputy Head, Serena slips into the main school office and holds a quiet conversation with Lou. And when Bernie comes into the staff room at break she’s sat in their usual spot with two steaming mugs of her favourite coffee.

‘For me?’ Bernie asks.

‘For you,’ Serena confirms.

‘I feel honoured,’ Bernie teases.

‘And so you should,’ Serena retorts, a smile playing across her lips.


	2. Term Four (February-March)

Serena leaves Raf and Arthur rehearsing in the hall with the kids and slips into the music office, hunting through the papers covering the desk and quietly cursing when the score she’s looking for isn’t there. She straightens up and looks around the room, toying with her necklace as she considers where it might have ended up. But before she can resume her search she hears noise coming from one of the classrooms and frowns. Her quest temporarily forgotten she steps out and quietly walks to the classroom door, looks through the glass panel to see her Year Sevens very definitely not sitting quietly completing the worksheet she set as cover. She shifts, cranes her neck to try and see who has gone so off-piste – who would be so brave (and stupid) as to ask the class to get the percussion out.

There, sat at the piano at the front of the room, is Bernie.

Serena stares at her, mouth dropping open in surprise. And then she remembers leaving the missing score on that very piano before half term, realises she’s going to have to go in to retrieve it; she can’t very well go back without it – or worse, go back and ask someone else to fetch it.

‘I thought you were in concert rehearsals all day,’ Bernie frowns when she walks in.

‘I am,’ Serena replies a little tightly. She leans over Bernie’s shoulder, rifles through the music on the stand until she finds what she’s looking for. ‘Are you this cavalier in all your cover lessons?’

‘Well you have to admit, what you left wasn’t exactly thrilling.’

‘Thought you could do it better, did you?’ Serena hisses.

‘No, that’s not–’ Bernie begins, but Serena is already striding from the room.

Serena is distracted for the rest of the day, as they run songs with the choir, with the orchestra, with both together, as they deal with forgotten music and a broken clarinet and missing students after lunch. So when the bell goes and they send the kids home with a last reminder of what time they need to be back tonight and what they need to wear and where they need to meet, she says goodbye to Raf and Arthur and heads to Bernie’s classroom.

‘Were you ever going to tell me you teach music as well?’

Bernie looks up sharply, guilt creasing her brow and pinking her cheeks. ‘I– well, I don’t. Not any more,’ she clarifies. ‘Not for– oh, must be getting on for ten years.’

Curious and mollified a little Serena pulls out a chair and sits, looking at her expectantly.

‘I used to teach music and history, pretty evenly. But when my ex was offered a job as head of science at St James’ and we moved here I couldn’t find anything other than pure history teaching, and it’s been like that ever since.’

‘Do you miss it?’ Serena asks, her anger almost entirely drained away now.

‘I didn’t think so, not after so long. Particularly not passing your room mid lesson,’ Bernie teases. ‘But actually I do. I am sorry for hijacking your plan, though. And for implying it was boring.’

‘No, you’re quite right,’ Serena sighs. ‘It’s difficult finding cover lessons that are interesting but don’t rely on the teacher having any musical knowledge or skill.’

‘If I can ever help,’ Bernie offers. ‘Not that I want you to feel obliged or anything,’ she adds hurriedly. ‘And obviously it’s been a long time so I’m probably very rusty and out of date, but if you wanted me to, that is if I could–’

‘I might just take you up on that,’ Serena smiles, interrupting her rambling.

‘Really?’ Bernie asks.

‘I’d be a fool not to take advantage of your skills,’ Serena replies, the spark in her eyes belying the pragmatism of her words. ‘I’d best be off,’ she says, glancing at the clock. ‘I’ve got to be back in a couple of hours for the concert.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ Serena smiles, pausing half way out of the room. ‘There are tickets left if you fancy seeing what madness this morning’s stunt has got you involved in.’

*

She doesn’t really expect Bernie to be there – she’s probably got plans already, and if she hasn’t then a school concert is probably the last place she wants to spend her evening. But when Serena turns to address the audience after the opening number she can’t stop herself scanning the room, just in case, and feels a bubble of joy when she spots the familiar mess of blonde hair, when their eyes meet for an instant and Bernie smiles at her.

Serena gets caught up at the end of the concert: it was a collaboration with some local primary schools so on top of talking to her own students and their parents as usual she has to deal with the primary teachers, with parents who want to talk about how their children will be able to get involved with music when they start here in September. She doesn’t manage to escape the hall for what feels like hours, looks around in vain for Bernie and finally trudges back to the office to pick up her handbag well after Raf and Arthur have already been and gone.

But sat on the edge of the desk waiting for her is Bernie.

‘So, regretting your offer yet?’ she asks, reaching for her coat.

‘Nope,’ Bernie smiles. ‘Well, maybe a little,’ she amends. ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’

‘Now where would be the fun in that?’ Serena laughs. ‘Seriously, though – would you like to get involved?’

‘I would,’ Bernie replies, equally seriously. ‘I really would.’

*

The following week Bernie is assigned to cover two music lessons in a row, both of her frees that day filled, because Arthur is off ill. The work waiting for her on the desk is nothing like the work Serena left last week; it’s still a watered down version of what Arthur would be teaching but a far cry from the usual cover fare of worksheets and internet-based research.

‘Did you request me specifically?’ she asks when she sees Serena at break time, when they sit together and drink Serena’s excellent coffee.

‘Maybe,’ Serena teases. ‘Being deputy might have its down sides – like being stuck in meetings all day so I can’t cover my own department’s lessons – but it does give me influence.’

‘Is Arthur ok?’

‘Haven’t you heard? I thought Dom would have told you.’

‘Heard what?’ Bernie frowns.

‘He’s having chemo. It’s his first session today.’

Bernie glances over at Dom, kicks herself for not realising how worried he looks, how quiet he’s been.

‘He’s got to go weekly,’ Serena adds quietly.

‘Should I add music cover to my timetable for the rest of the term, then?’

‘If you get on alright. I’ll see if I can pop in later.’

‘Don’t trust me?’ Bernie asks, only half teasing.

‘Don’t want to push you into something you’re not comfortable with,’ Serena corrects her.

She does manage to get away ten minutes early before lunch, speeds through her meeting with the bursar in record time and slips into the back of Bernie’s class to watch her wrap the lesson up. Bernie gives no sign that she’s seen Serena other than a brief smile when she walks in, carries on with what she was doing and dismisses the class when the bell goes for lunch.

‘So?’ she asks when they room is empty. ‘Did I pass?’

‘With flying colours,’ Serena smiles. ‘How did you find it?’

‘A bit of a shock to the system, to be honest.’

‘If you don’t want to–’

‘I do,’ Bernie interrupts her. ‘It’s just been a long time, that’s all.’

‘Maybe we could sit down sometime and I’ll go over the syllabus and lesson plans with you?’

‘Sounds good,’ Bernie smiles.

‘After school any day but Wednesday,’ Serena says, patting Bernie’s arm. ‘I’ll be around, just come and find me.’

*

Bernie doesn’t have the chance until the following week, gets caught up in a staff meeting on Thursday and can’t hang around on Friday because Charlotte texts asking if she can come over for dinner, and while they made up some time ago Bernie is always unwilling to miss out on any opportunity to spend time with either of her children. She plans to go and see Serena on Monday instead, was going to check that that’s alright at break time but when she passes Dom’s room she sees him staring into space, his brow knitted, and after a moment’s hesitation slips inside.

‘Dom?’ she asks quietly. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Fine,’ he says, trying his best to smile reassuringly.

Bernie tilts her head, raises her eyebrows, watches as his determined expression fades and worry takes over again, sits on the front row of tables and waits.

‘It’s Arthur,’ he says eventually. ‘We had a fight this morning. His meds aren’t agreeing with him and he’s not been sleeping. I told him he should take the day off, try and get some rest.’

‘He didn’t take it well?’ Bernie guesses.

‘Told me to stop being so nice,’ Dom mutters. ‘Said it wasn’t like me.’

‘It’s not,’ Bernie points out.

‘I know. It’s just…’

‘He’s your best friend and you’re trying to help?’

‘Exactly,’ Dom sighs.

‘I suppose he just wants a bit of normality.’

‘He’s got cancer.’

‘Yes,’ Bernie concedes. ‘But he’s also a teacher, and your friend, and lots of other things that aren’t defined by that.’

‘You’re saying I should just ignore the fact that he’s ill?’

‘No, just that you should give him the space to be other things too. Now, how about we go and get some coffee? I don’t know about you, but I’m going to need caffeine before my next class.’

In the staff room Bernie watches as Dom goes to sit with Arthur and Sacha and joins in their conversation, his smile only small but genuine now. And then she scans the room for Serena, feels a flare of jealousy when she sees someone else in what has become her seat. But Serena looks up and smiles brightly when she sees her, and points to a mug on the table in front of her, so Bernie walks over anyway. Serena shuffles in her chair, pats the now exposed corner and reaches to tug at Bernie’s elbow when she hesitates. Bernie allows herself to be pulled down so they’re thigh to thigh, takes the coffee Serena passes her and feels warmed by both the drink and the woman pressed against her side.

‘See you later?’ she asks when the bell goes.

Serena nods, squeezes Bernie’s elbow again. Their eyes catch and for a moment they just stand and gaze at each other, until someone jostles Bernie and she realises they’re blocking the door, mutters an apology and then slips away.

*

It’s Raf who tells Serena that Arthur is struggling, mentions it at lunchtime in a low voice, his eyes filled with concern. So she makes excuses to be in and out of the classroom while he’s teaching that afternoon, keeps an eye on him, hears his cough, sees how pale he is, how much time he’s spending sitting down, how utterly exhausted he looks – and it’s only Monday.

‘Are you sure you should be here?’ she asks once the class has gone.

‘I’m fine, Serena,’ Arthur replies shortly, not looking at her, tidying the desk and gathering his things.

‘I’m just saying that if you need some more time off then that’s okay.’

‘I just want to get on with my job, that’s all.’

‘But–’

‘Please,’ he says, pushing his chair back roughly. ‘I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m about to break.’

Serena makes to follow him as he leaves, but a soft voice from the back of the room stops her.

‘Let him go, Serena.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘He needs to deal with this how he wants to, not how other people want him to. You’ve got to loosen your grip.’

‘You’d do well to remember who you’re talking to,’ Serena says coldly, sweeping from the room.

Bernie stuffs her hands into her pockets and leans back, her head hitting the wall behind her with a quiet thunk.

 _Excellent, well done Wolfe,_ she thinks with a sigh.

She waits a couple of minutes and when there’s no sign of Serena returning slowly walks back to her classroom, figuring she may as well use the time to do some marking; usually she’d leave it for her frees tomorrow but she won’t be able to get it done if she’s covering for Arthur again.

_If Serena still wants you to, that is._

Ten minutes later there’s a quiet knock on the frame of her open door. She looks up to see Serena, her expression an odd mixture of regret and hurt and annoyance, offers her a warm smile and receives a sheepish one in return.

‘You care about him a great deal, don’t you?’ Bernie asks softly.

Serena sighs, sits heavily in the classroom chair closest to Bernie’s desk.

‘Arthur’s what it’s all about, isn’t he? Inspiring young teachers, passing on our experience to help them be the best they can for their students.’

‘I just want what’s best for him.’

‘I know. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.’

‘I know,’ Serena smiles. ‘Truce?’

‘Truce,’ Bernie agrees, reaching across her desk and holding out her hand.

Serena stretches to take it instantly; Bernie can feel the strength in her fingers, the soft warmth of her skin as she lingers, palm to palm, before sitting back again, her fingers slowly slipping from Bernie’s, touching until the last possible moment.

*

‘What do you play?’ Serena asks on Thursday afternoon, as she watches Bernie getting to grips with the notation software the department uses.

‘Cello,’ she replies. ‘Oh, bloody hell. Serena, how do I–?’ She gestures helplessly at the screen.

Serena leans over her, presses against her back as she reaches for the keyboard and hits the escape button.

‘Used to be much simpler,’ Bernie grumbles.

‘You’ll get the hang of it,’ Serena smiles, squeezing her shoulder. ‘If you want the practice I’ve a couple of songs I want to arrange for the choirs, you could input the piano and vocal parts for me to use as a starting point?’

‘I’m sure you could do it much faster yourself.’

‘I’m sure I could,’ Serena agrees. ‘But you may as well learn by doing something useful. And speaking of being useful…’

‘Yes?’ Bernie says warily, turning to look at her.

‘The strings are a little weak this year.’

‘And?’

Serena raises her eyebrows.

‘Oh no. No, Serena. My cello hasn’t left its case for months,’ Bernie protests, her gaze slipping away as she ducks her head so as not to see Serena’s disapproval.

‘By the concert you’ll have done about as much practice as the kids then,’ Serena says breezily. ‘You don’t have to, obviously, but an extra cello would be a real help.’

Bernie glances at her, her unwillingness melting at Serena’s imploring expression. ‘Oh, why not,’ she relents. ‘After all, what’s the worst that could happen?’

‘Just you embarrassing yourself in front of a hall full of students and parents,’ Serena teases.

‘Thanks for that,’ Bernie mutters. But Serena is beaming, and she can’t help smiling in return.

So the following Wednesday Bernie lugs her cello into school and stands it in the corner of the humanities office, can feel its presence across the corridor from her classroom all morning as she teaches and tries to ignore the bubbling of nerves. At break time Serena sidles up to her as she’s pouring their coffee and nudges her with her elbow. ‘Still alright for orchestra?’

‘I’m nervous,’ she admits, adding just enough milk to Serena’s mug before passing it over. ‘Ridiculous, I know. I just – well, I don’t want to disappoint you.’

‘You won’t,’ Serena smiles, her hand lingering on Bernie’s arm.

Bernie gets held up answering questions about homework at the end of her last lesson, grabs her cello from the office and calls a goodbye to Sacha and Essie and rushes over to the hall, arrives breathless to find kids still trailing in and out to fetch music stands from the cupboard.

Serena looks up almost the moment she walks through the door, keeps calling the register but smiles brightly and points her pen towards an empty chair in the second desk on her right. So Bernie gets out her cello and bow, smiles at the boy in the chair beside her, squints at the music on the stand and allows herself to zone out the chatter and tuning and echoing footsteps across the wooden floor, trying not to panic when she sees a challenging passage and then another.

 _Not that it would be challenging if you still actually played,_ she berates herself, her left hand moving on the strings as she considers the fingering.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Serena open a score and raise her hands, eyebrow quirked as she waits for everyone to pay attention, looks at her and prays one last time that this isn’t going to be horrendously embarrassing.

At the end of the rehearsal Bernie lays her cello down beside her, bow balanced on top, and leans back in her chair, stretches her legs out and sighs deeply.

‘There, that wasn’t so bad was it?’

She opens her eyes to find Raf standing over her, smiling.

‘Could’ve been worse,’ she admits. ‘I’m going to have to put some practice in though – my fingers are sore already.’

‘That’s what happens if you don’t play,’ says a man Bernie doesn’t know, a trombone case slung over his shoulder, one hand lightly touching Raf’s arm before he reaches towards her. ‘Fletch, I teach brass.’

‘Bernie,’ she replies.

‘I know,’ Fletch grins. ‘Welcome to the madhouse. Got to dash, I’m afraid. Shall I take those two with me while I pick up the others, or leave them with you?’

‘Mikey, Evie?’ Raf calls.

Bernie follows their gazes across the hall, watches as the two kids come over.

‘You want to go with your Dad or hang around while I finish up here?’

‘Stay with you,’ Mikey says immediately, running back to his bag.

‘Anything you get out you tidy away,’ Fletch calls after him. ‘And don’t go making too much noise, okay?’

‘Ok, Dad.’

‘How about you, Evie?’ Raf asks.

The girl screws up her face, clearly not too enamoured with either option.

‘I’ll be here a bit longer,’ Serena says, slipping one arm around Evie’s shoulders and squeezing.

The girl turns into her hug, grinning. ‘I’ll stay.’

‘Guess I’ll see you all later then,’ Fletch says with a shrug. Bernie watches as his eyes meet Raf’s, as Raf squeezes Fletch’s elbow and smiles fondly.

‘How did you find it?’ Serena asks softly, leaning against the wall as Bernie puts her cello away. ‘Will you be back next week?’

‘Oh, it’ll take more than that to get rid of me,’ Bernie smiles.

‘I’ll have to try a bit harder then, won’t I?’ Serena teases with a wink.

*          *          *

February moves into March. Bernie attends both orchestra and string sectionals every week, at home digs out her old music and leaves her cello in one corner of her living room, tries to play a few times a week if she can, the pain in her fingers gradually lessening and her muscles strengthening again.

Arthur relents and reduces his hours further, and Bernie finds almost all her frees filled with covering his lessons. She’s glad she’s here, glad she told Serena about her past, because Serena is covering some of his lessons too, somehow wedging them into her timetable, looking increasingly harried as she deals with this on top of her own lessons, her duties as deputy head, extra rehearsals and preparations for the approaching Spring Concert.

Dom tells her that he’s worried about Arthur, tells her in how he looks and behaves more than in words most of the time. But one morning he slips into her classroom before staff briefing and sinks into a chair, and Bernie perches on the edge of the table beside him and waits patiently for him to speak.

‘He coughed up blood last night. He must be worried because I didn’t even have to persuade him to go to the doctor this morning.’

Bernie reaches to squeeze his shoulder, doesn’t say anything because all she has are platitudes and what good will they do?

She spends Thursday lunchtime marking – spends every lunchtime marking now other than Friday, when she has string sectionals, because so many of her frees are taken up with music cover – stays after school to get it finished and, almost at the bottom of the pile of homework, senses a figure in the open door.

‘I had a head teacher who used to loom up on people like that once,’ she says, keeping her eyes on the page as she scribbles a comment in the margin.

‘Really?’ Hanssen says.

‘The ghost, we used to call him,’ Bernie adds, looking around at him.

‘How fascinating.’

‘What can I do for you, Mr Hanssen?’

He comes into the room properly, closes the door behind him but remains standing. ‘It appears that you have spent many of your frees so far this term covering lessons in the music department.’

‘I have, yes.’

‘And that you perhaps have talents we could better utilise. Now, I don’t know how aware you are of Arthur’s situation?’

‘I know that he’s got cancer, and that he’s been declining.’

Hanssen nods and Bernie realises he looks even graver than usual, puts her pen down and gives him her full attention.

‘He received his latest test results today, and I’m very sorry to say they were not good.’

‘How bad?’ Bernie asks.

‘Months.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Bernie says, instantly thinking of Dom, and of Serena.

‘As am I. Arthur is a talented teacher and a bright young man. Do you have any plans for next term?’

‘No,’ Bernie answers, frowning at the sudden change of direction.

‘Arthur is determined to continue working for as long as he is able, however he is aware he likely does not have much time left. When Ric returns after Easter, would you be interested in moving over to the music department and covering Arthur’s lessons instead?’

‘Have you run this past Serena?’

‘And if she objected?’

‘I wouldn’t be interested.’

‘It was, in fact, she who recommended it,’ Hanssen says with a small smile.

‘Oh,’ Bernie breathes.

‘Shall I take that as a yes?’

‘As long as you’re not expecting miracles.’

‘No.’

‘Because I’ve been out of music for a long time.’

‘I trust Ms Campbell’s judgement. If she believes you are the right teacher for the job, that’s good enough for me.’ He opens the door, pauses before stepping out into the corridor. ‘I’ll have the paperwork drawn up. Good afternoon, Ms Wolfe.’

Delayed by Hanssen’s visit and slowed by her disbelief at his offer – at _Serena’s_ offer, at the prospect of working with Serena properly, every day in the same department – Bernie finally finishes her marking far later than she would usually leave. When she steps out of the building, nodding to the cleaner, the school is quiet, but she decides to pass by the music department just on the off chance that Serena is still here, wanting to thank her, to check that this is really happening. The building is unlocked so she slips inside, makes her way through the empty classroom and peers into the office. There, sat at the desk, is Serena.

‘If it isn’t my sponsor,’ Bernie says quietly.

‘I’m sorry?’ Serena asks, not turning to look at her.

‘Hanssen came to see me. Are you sure you want me mucking up your department on a more regular basis?’ she teases.

And then Serena sobs, and Bernie realises she’s shaking with the effort of holding herself together.

‘Serena?’ she asks, moving closer, hesitating a moment before resting her hand lightly on Serena’s shoulder.

‘It’s so unfair, Bernie,’ she says angrily, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.

‘I know,’ Bernie says softly.

‘He’s just a boy.’

‘I know, she repeats. She tugs gently at Serena’s shoulder until finally she gives in and leans into her, head heavy against Bernie’s ribs. ‘Drink?’ she suggests when Serena shifts, stepping away to give her some semblance of privacy as she wipes her eyes and blows her nose.

‘Love to, but I’ve got to get back for Jason.’

‘Husband?’ Bernie asks.

‘No, I’m a fully paid up member of the embittered ex-wives club, thank you very much,’ Serena laughs wetly. ‘He’s my nephew. And he’s rather particular about when he eats, I’m afraid.’

‘Another time, then?’

‘Definitely,’ Serena smiles.

*          *          *

By the week of the Spring Concert, Arthur has cut his hours dramatically. He’s determined to still be a part of the concert, though, and Serena remembers Bernie’s words and lets him, tries her hardest not to fuss over him as they slog their way through the first of three long days of rehearsals.

Hanssen slips into the hall after lunch, watches silently from the back of the room for a while, disappearing before Serena can ask him why he’s there. The next morning Bernie appears after registration, answers Serena’s frown with a shrug.

‘Hanssen said I was covered all today and tomorrow,’ she murmurs, and both of their gazes land on Arthur. ‘But if you’d rather I didn’t–’

‘I need all the help I can get,’ Serena interrupts.

‘Put me to work then, Campbell,’ Bernie smiles.

So Serena does: sends her to the back of the room to judge the balance, beckons her over to page turn when she’s accompanying at the piano, gets her to take a group of students off to a practice room to iron out the problems in their song, asks her to help the younger string players tune while Raf tunes the rest of the orchestra and she registers the choir. It goes as well as can be expected, and none of them comment when Arthur disappears before lunch; Bernie finds him asleep in the music office, tucks a blanket around him and tapes a scrawled note to the door asking for quiet.

The following morning Bernie is halfway through one of the doughnuts Fletch thoughtfully brought with him, her fingers sticky with sugar and escaped jam, when two Year Eleven girls skip over to her and then stand, nudging each other and giggling.

‘Yes, girls?’ she asks, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

‘Will you help us with the mystery item, Miss?’

‘The what?’ she frowns.

‘Department tradition,’ Serena explains, smiling at Bernie’s bemused expression. ‘The GCSE group prepares an item the staff know nothing about.’

‘Last time I checked, I was staff,’ Bernie points out.

‘Just give them a hand, would you?’ Serena asks, her fingers on Bernie’s arm, her eyes meeting Bernie’s. ‘Please?’

Bernie finds she can’t say no, lets the girls lead her over to where the group is huddled in one corner of the hall and finishes her doughnut as she looks at the music they hold up. She doesn’t realise Serena’s eyes are fixed on her as she licks the sugar from her fingers.

She shoos Serena, Raf and Arthur from the hall later, her eyes sparkling even as she threatens them not to come back until someone fetches them, listens to what the Year Elevens have got so far. It’s some modern pop song she doesn’t know, much to the horror of the teenagers, but one of the boys finds it on YouTube and passes over his phone so Bernie can listen to the original. She suggests they add some simple harmonies, sits at the piano and works them out, scrawls them on a scrap of manuscript paper and teaches them to a couple of the singers and one of the violinists. Then she wanders to the back of the hall and leans against the wall, hands in her pockets, and listens.

‘It sounds good,’ she smiles when they reach the end. ‘Well done, I’m impressed.’

‘We’ll spend lunchtime practicing,’ they promise.

‘Don’t. You don’t need to.’

‘But we haven’t got it right yet,’ one of the boys complains.

‘And an extra half an hour on the day of the concert won’t change that. It doesn’t have to be perfect. You’d be much better off having a break.’

They grumble, but let her herd them out of the hall and into the spring sunshine.

‘I don’t want to see you back until two,’ Bernie warns.

‘Yes Miss,’ the group choruses.

She watches as they disperse, then tidies any evidence of what song they’ve chosen away, tucking a couple of abandoned sheets behind the cello music on her stand, before heading in search of Serena and her lunch.

‘How did it go?’ Serena asks the moment she steps into the office.

‘Fine,’ Bernie smiles. ‘And don’t go trying to wheedle it out of me, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’

‘Oh go on, give us a clue?’ Serena pouts, but Bernie just shakes her head.

*

The concert goes well. Not perfectly – when does that ever happen? – but as well as could be hoped. Bernie finds herself feeling nervous when it comes to the mystery item, hands clenching as she and Serena sit beside each other to watch it, arms and thighs touching; halfway through Bernie finds herself watching Serena instead of the kids, heart swelling at the pride on her face and the glint of tears in her eyes. She’s glad she isn’t part of the following item because at the end, amid cheers and whoops from the kids’ friends in the audience, Serena brushes a kiss to her cheek and murmurs her thanks, and Bernie feels her insides turn to jelly.

There are nerves and wrong notes, missed entries and missing harmonies scattered throughout – but Serena is smiling at the end of the concert and that’s enough for Bernie. Once Serena has praised the kids and spoken to proud parents – and Bernie has received an unexpected hug from Dom, holding him tight as she pretends not to see the tears in his eyes – she catches at Bernie’s hand.

‘Fancy a drink?’

‘As if you even have to ask,’ Bernie grins, hefting her cello case over her shoulder. ‘Raf, Fletch?’

‘Nah, got to get back to relieve the babysitter, I’m afraid.’

‘Arthur?’

‘I think I’m just going to head home actually, if you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all,’ Bernie smiles, glancing at Dom and seeing his relief.

‘In which case, we’ll see you all tomorrow,’ Serena says, slipping her arm through Bernie’s. ‘Come on you, let’s make our escape before–’

‘Another excellent concert, Ms Campbell.’

‘Spoke too soon,’ Serena mutters, pasting a smile on her face as she turns around. ‘Thank you, Henrik.’

‘And it appears you were correct about Ms Wolfe, I can see she’s going to be an advantageous addition to the department.’

‘Definitely,’ Serena smiles, squeezing Bernie’s arm.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Hanssen says, slipping away towards a group of Year Elevens.

‘Take two,’ Bernie murmurs, heading for the door and tugging Serena with her.

*

‘You don’t have to get back for Jason?’ Bernie asks as they settle into a pair of squishy armchairs in Albie’s.

‘He’s staying at Alan’s. Concert weeks are too chaotic for him, he prefers to avoid them entirely. Cheers,’ she adds, holding out her glass.

‘Cheers. Um, Alan?’ Bernie asks.

‘His carer, before I met him. I didn’t know I had a nephew until a year ago – didn’t know I’d had a sister. Not long after I found out Alan had a stroke and couldn’t work any more.’

‘So you just took Jason in?’

‘Well, I could hardly leave him where he’d been living while Alan was in hospital. It was terrible, Bernie, all these drug addicts and petty criminals. I took him home with me the same day.’

‘And is there anyone else at Chez Campbell?’

‘Just Ellie, on the odd occasion she deigns to grace us with her presence.’

‘Sounds like my two,’ Bernie smiles into her wine. ‘They only seem to appear when they want something. So you’re not, uh, not dating?’

‘No. Jason and I are something of a package deal, you see. Robbie – I was seeing him when Jason moved in with me – well, it wasn’t what he signed up for, wasn’t what he wanted.’

‘Bastard,’ Bernie says, with feeling.

‘You don’t even know Jason,’ Serena frowns.

Bernie lifts one shoulder in a shrug. ‘Don’t need to. He’s your nephew and you love him, that’s all that matters. Anyone who can’t accept that isn’t worth your time.’

Serena smiles, clears her throat and looks away when she realises she’s been gazing at Bernie for far too long. ‘So what about you?’

‘Single too.’

‘None of the fine specimens of male physicality in the PE department have caught your eye, then?’ Serena teases.

Bernie blushes and ducks her head. ‘It would have to be a specimen of female physicality, actually,’ she says quietly.

Serena feels something inside her ping and is suddenly forcibly reminded of Stepney, of that kiss – those kisses – all those years ago, a night she hasn’t thought about for so long, and is rather glad Bernie is looking at the tabletop and not at her. ‘And they’re all young enough to be our daughters,’ she says once she’s gathered herself.

‘Exactly,’ Bernie agrees. She looks up from beneath her fringe, her eyes all warm and a little worried.

Serena reaches across the table and places her hand over Bernie’s, ignores the sudden racing of her heart at the feel of her skin and the look in her eyes. ‘Thank you for tonight – for everything you’ve done.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ Bernie smiles, her worry fading.

‘And for agreeing to stay on. I – well, it’s going to be a difficult term and I’m glad you’re going to be here.’

‘So am I.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, my inability to shake the mental image of Bernie playing the cello was a major driving force behind this fic.


	3. Easter Holiday (April)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I said about uneven chapter lengths? Well, this is definitely the shortest...  
> Also, I had no idea my mental image of cellist Bernie would resonate with so many of you but I'm very glad that it does! For anyone who's interested, the suite she's playing here is Bach's cello suite number one.

Cam and Charlotte both come for dinner on Easter Sunday. The three of them get in each other’s way in the kitchen as they cook with the radio on, more modern pop music that Bernie doesn’t know but her children are determined to acquaint her with. After they’ve eaten, all stuffed with salmon and chocolate cake but still picking at the eggs Bernie bought them (Milky Buttons for Cam, Caramel for Charlotte, the same as every year), they settle in the living room to play Cluedo.

‘What’s that doing out?’ Cam asks, looking askance at her cello.

‘I’ve started playing again,’ Bernie replies, setting out the murder weapons on the board as Charlie shuffles the cards. ‘I’ve been covering some music lessons too because one of the teachers is ill. They’ve asked me to stay on for the rest of the year.’

‘Really?’ Cam and Charlie chorus, staring at her.

‘What?’ she frowns.

‘You haven’t taught music since we moved here,’ Cam points out.

‘And it’s not like you to stay on anywhere,’ Charlie adds.

Bernie shrugs. ‘It’s a good school, a nice department. I like it there, why not stay?’ She thinks of Serena and smiles, presses her lips together to keep it from becoming a grin.

‘I’m glad,’ Charlie smiles. ‘You look happy, Mum.’

‘I am,’ Bernie replies, her smile pulling wider. ‘Professor Plum for me please, Cam.’

‘I know, Mum,’ he says with a roll of his eyes, putting the purple, blue and yellow playing pieces on their respective starting squares.

Once they’ve left the following day and she’s tidied up and put a load of washing on, Bernie sits down with her cello and rifles through the music on the stand. She already knows what she wants to play though, runs her fingers across the well-worn pages and pencilled notes, tightens her bow and tunes and then settles in to spend the rest of the morning with Bach, revisiting the pieces she has always loved best, the suite that she’s never tired of playing or hearing and knows she never will. It’s ropey, of course – some movements more than others – and it isn’t long before her fingers and hands are sore. But at the same time Bernie feels alive again, feels the music rush through her and falls in love with it all over again.

She reaches the end of the suite, pushes through the discomfort and returns to the Prelude, the first movement she learned, the one she has always loved the most. It falls under her fingers so easily still after all this time away, so much of it still firmly lodged in her muscle memory, and she closes her eyes and sways a little as she gets lost in it. Until she forgets what comes next and stumbles, opens her eyes and searches out the right bar, follows the music through to the end and breathes a deep, contented sigh.

 _Thank you, Serena,_ she thinks, smiling even as she flexes her aching fingers. _Thank you for helping me find my way back here._


	4. Term Five (April-May)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know what's coming with Arthur. Tissues at the ready, I'm afraid.

Bernie spends the first lesson back after Easter with Ric, going over the work she’s done with each of his classes and the progress they’ve made. When they finish she’s steps out into the corridor, busy with students moving between lessons, and sticks her head around Dom’s door to say goodbye.

‘Abandoning me,’ he sighs dramatically. ‘However will I manage?’

And then she heads to the music department – her new department, her new home, for now at least. Raf is teaching a clarinet lesson in one of the practice rooms, Arthur is settling a group of Year Sevens in one of the classrooms – and Serena is sat waiting for her in the office. She looks worried, smiles tightly when she sees Bernie.

‘What is it?’ Bernie asks, her happiness evaporating.

Serena opens her mouth but looks over Bernie’s shoulder before she can speak. ‘Ah, Henrik.’

Bernie turns to see the head two strides behind her, wonders yet again how she didn’t hear him, how he manages to move so quietly. She lets him enter the room ahead of her, at a glance from Serena closes the door behind them and leans against it.

‘I don’t think he should be here,’ Serena says.

‘Nor do I,’ Hanssen agrees. ‘But I think that is a decision we must allow him to make for himself.’

‘I don’t just mean today, Henrik.’

‘I know,’ he says sadly. ‘I shall sit in and observe for a time. I think it may perhaps be prudent to leave the doors open, in case one of you needs to take over?’

Serena nods, watches as Bernie moves away so Hanssen can leave, wedging the door open on his way out. And then she sighs deeply and Bernie comes to perch on the edge of the desk, can’t stop herself reaching out to touch Serena’s shoulder. She doesn’t say anything – not when Serena takes a shaky breath, not when Serena’s hand comes to rest on hers, not when Serena meets her eye and the sadness in them almost overwhelms her.

They sit in silence, hear the burst of noise as Arthur’s class get out the tuned percussion, the random notes from those who just can’t resist the temptation, the eventual quiet and Arthur’s instructions.

And then a mess of notes from the piano.

Silence.

A hesitant, unsteady melody, not all of the notes clear.

Silence again.

Serena’s breath hitches; her hand tightens around Bernie’s, and Bernie squeezes her shoulder.

Arthur changes tack, instead of demonstrating the tune gets a different student to play each line and the rest of the class to echo it.

In the office Bernie and Serena exchange a look but don’t say anything, eventually move apart to sit quietly and work until the end of the lesson. Hanssen stays in the classroom until Arthur dismisses the class for break, follows him back to the office with only a pause to knock on Raf’s practice room door, summoning him to join them.

‘I can’t play any more,’ Arthur tells them. ‘All I ever wanted was to teach music, but I can’t do that any more. It’s time for me to stop.’

‘You don’t need to make that decision,’ Raf says gently.

‘Yes, I do,’ Arthur says with a sad smile. ‘I’ve loved every single minute of working here.’

‘I know,’ Serena says. ‘We all do. And we’ve loved working with you.’

‘I’ll leave you all my notes,’ he says to Bernie. ‘Bring in anything I’ve got at home too. Look after my classes for me?’

‘I will,’ she promises.

After Arthur and Hanssen leave none of them go to the staff room, tacitly agree to forgo coffee and instead sit in silence until the bell goes and they have to stir themselves, a round of sighs and tight, sad smiles, and Serena’s hand brushing Bernie’s arm as they go their separate ways.

*

They see Arthur once more. He drops in at the end of the day the following Tuesday, wheezes and sits heavily in a chair after plonking a box full of papers and files onto the table. Raf volunteers to make tea and slips out to the staff room.

Serena watches, fingers toying with her pendant, as Bernie pulls things from the box and looks through them, Arthur explaining his system and colour-coding to her. When he tells her that he’s drawn up a key, when he passes over a data stick he tells her contains all the materials he’s ever prepared and used, meticulously labelled and filed, Serena has to close her eyes against the sudden prick of tears. When she opens them it’s to find Bernie gazing at her as Arthur points to each of the folders in turn – Year Seven, Year Eight, Year Nine, GCSE (old and new syllabus).

‘And my planner for this year,’ he says, pointing to the last item. ‘So you know exactly what each class has done so far. I’ve made notes on the good kids and the troublemakers too, so you know who to keep an eye on.’

‘Thank you, Arthur,’ Bernie says. But her eyes stay on Serena, warm and steady, and Serena feels herself calm a little.

When Raf returns with tea and biscuits begged from Lou – and handed over only because they’re for Arthur – they adjourn to the comfy seats in the office and talk as if it were just a normal day, Serena sitting as close to Bernie as she can, their elbows touching. When Arthur leaves they each hug him in turn, Serena holding him a little longer, a little tighter, grateful for Bernie’s hand on the small of her back as they watch him go.

*

Dom comes over to Bernie in the staff room before briefing on Monday morning to tell her that Arthur’s in hospital, was rushed in on Friday night and had to have surgery but is okay – as okay as can be expected, anyway. They send him a card from the department, Bernie scrawling her best wishes messily beside Serena’s elegant message after long minutes of hesitation – because what can you say to someone when you all know he’s dying?

On Friday afternoon the three of them are pottering around the department, tidying up at the end of the week – Raf checking each of the computers has two sets of headphones and untangling the cables, Bernie gathering stray beaters and pens, Serena redistributing percussion instruments into the correct boxes – when a grave faced Hanssen walks into the classroom. He doesn’t have to say a word.

When he’s gone, when Raf has hugged Serena tightly and gone home to Fletch and the kids, they lean against a table, pressed together from shoulder to knee.

‘Drink?’ Bernie asks eventually, her voice hoarse.

Serena glances at her watch and nods. And then she gasps and sobs, and Bernie immediately slips one arm around her. She’s tense for a moment then buries her face in Bernie’s shoulder and lets herself cry, ugly and messy, until Bernie’s shirt is soaked and her eyes and throat hurt.

‘Come on,’ Bernie says eventually. ‘What time will Jason be expecting his tea?’

Serena sniffs, digs a tissue from her pocket and dries her eyes. ‘He’s at a friend’s for a Doctor Who marathon this evening, won’t be back until bedtime.’

‘Albie’s, then? Or you can come back to mine?’ she suggests when Serena hesitates. ‘Wine and a takeaway?’

Which is how they end up sprawled on Bernie’s sofa, [Elgar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4zMi8RYIL8) on the stereo and takeaway cartons littering the coffee table, legs drawn up and toes almost touching as they sip their wine. Bernie’s cat, Ziggy, takes to Serena almost instantly, jumps up beside her and curls up half on top of her feet, purring as Serena scratches between his ears. He’s usually wary of strangers and Bernie wonders if he feels the same magnetic pull towards Serena as she does, or if he can sense Serena’s distress and wants to make it better – again, like she does.

‘Arthur came to us as an NQT,’ Serena says softly, eyes fixed on her glass as she swirls her wine. ‘He was terrible with the kids to start with – so clever and talented but just lacking in people skills.’

‘He grew into a fine teacher,’ Bernie smiles. ‘That must be thanks to you, at least in part.’

Serena smiles then sniffs, tilts her head up and stares at the ceiling and blinks back tears. ‘I’m going to miss him.’

‘I know,’ Bernie says, nudging her foot against Serena’s, the only bit of her she can reach without moving. ‘And to make things worse you’re stuck with me,’ she teases.

‘What on earth have I let myself in for?’ Serena laughs. ‘I’m glad you’re here though,’ she adds after a beat, pressing her foot firmly against Bernie’s.

*

It becomes not quite a routine but a regularity, when Jason’s schedule allows it, this time spent together outside of work. Sometimes it’s a just drink at Albie’s on a Friday evening and sometimes it’s dinner at Bernie’s, wine and takeaway curled on the sofa together. Bernie takes to staying at work far later than she really needs to because Serena has to, snowed under even more than usual with admin and paperwork for Henrik and the Governors and goodness knows what else. Bernie uses the time to mark and plan and read Arthur’s notes, to acquaint herself with the filing cabinets full of work – one cabinet for each year, one drawer for each term, all carefully sorted and labelled. She reads the new GCSE syllabus materials too, even though she’s only timetabled as an extra pair of hands for those lessons, gradually gets faster and better at using the notation software, inputting the songs Serena wants to arrange and looking up anything she can’t work out in the thick, well-thumbed manual on the office shelf.

In fact it isn’t only on Fridays that Bernie stays late. The sofa no longer looks like such an attractive place to do her marking and preparation, not when she could be spending the time with Serena instead. They almost always leave together now, flicking off the lights as they go, holding doors open for each other, crossing the car park with their arms brushing.

Sometimes they work in silence, with the occasional outburst from Serena about how the paperwork seems to multiply every time she takes her eyes off it; sometimes they talk about their days, their kids, their weekend plans.

‘Weekend?’ Serena scoffs one Friday. ‘What’s one of those?’

‘Not going to be working, are you?’ Bernie frowns.

Serena looks pointedly at the stack of exercise books and pile of GCSE compositions on the end of the desk. ‘I haven’t even started on those. And I haven’t finished this presentation for Henrik, so they won’t be getting done tonight. I promised Jason I’d take him to the new exhibition at the museum tomorrow too, and he’s been so looking forward to it.’ She sighs heavily, reaches for her pendant and tugs it back and forth along the chain. ‘Oh dear, I feel I’ve rather let him down. He isn’t going to be impressed when I tell him I’ve got to work instead.’

‘What can I do to help?’ Bernie asks.

‘What?’ Serena frowns.

‘Can I mark those books for you? Take Jason out, if going with a stranger would be less disruptive than not going? Come and be your slave for the weekend so you don’t have to worry about cooking? Pour a steady stream of Shiraz down your throat?’

Serena just stares at her. ‘I– well, I couldn’t ask you to do any of those.’

‘You’re not asking, I’m offering. Although even if I did all of it that wouldn’t solve the real problem, would it?’

‘And what, pray, is the real problem?’ Serena asks, one eyebrow arched.

Bernie quails a little under her scrutiny, ducks her head and looks down at the desk. ‘Not really my place,’ she mumbles.

‘Tell me,’ Serena requests. ‘Please?’

‘It seems to me,’ Bernie says slowly, carefully, ‘that maybe you need to prioritise what’s really important for you.’ She chances a glance up, finds Serena looking at her thoughtfully.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ she says with a sigh. ‘I love music, and I love my family – and they both deserve my precious time far more than the governors of this school.’

There’s a determined set to her jaw and a glint in her eyes that sends a jolt through Bernie’s body. She glances at the clock and jumps up, gathering the notes for her presentation and shoving them into a file.

‘Won’t be long,’ she says, and is out of the door before Bernie can say a word.

When she comes back her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed and she’s smiling, looks happier and lighter than Bernie ever remembers seeing her.

‘How would you like to have tea with Jason and I this evening?’ she asks, draping her scarf around her neck and slipping her stack of marking into a bag.

Bernie scrambles to her feet and hastily gathers her own things, ‘Um, I’d love to,’ she replies, following in Serena’s wake.

‘Excellent. It’s Bolognese tonight, that ok?’

‘Fine. Um, Serena, what–’

Serena spins around and beams at her. ‘I quit,’ she explains. ‘As deputy,’ she adds quickly at Bernie’s stunned expression. ‘I’m damn good at my job and it’s got in the way of that.’ She steps closer, reaches to run her hand down Bernie’s arm. ‘Thank you for what you said. It made me feel like I had permission to do something I think I’ve wanted to for a while.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ Bernie smiles in return. ‘And you are, you know,’ she calls as Serena unlocks her car.

‘What?’

‘Damn good at your job.’

*

‘You must be Auntie Serena’s friend Bernie,’ Jason says when she steps inside. ‘Your hair is much better than she described.’

‘Thank you, Jason,’ Serena mutters, blushing, as Bernie turns to her and raises her eyebrows.

It takes the sound of the TV to break them from looking at each other, Serena clearing her throat and leading the way into the kitchen. Bernie insists on helping so Serena sets her to work minding the sauce as it reheats while she deals with the pasta and opens a bottle of wine to breathe.

‘Here’s to my new found freedom,’ Serena says, raising her glass, when they sit around the table to eat. ‘Thanks to you,’ she adds softly, eyes fixed on Bernie’s.

‘No, that was you, Serena,’ Bernie smiles. ‘I just lit the touchpaper.’

Bernie keeps finding herself losing focus, finding herself aimlessly twirling her fork instead of actually wrapping spaghetti around it. It’s just that Serena looks so happy and so beautiful opposite her, her eyes warm and sparkling, and Bernie can’t keep herself from glancing at her time and again from under her fringe. In desperation she asks Jason about the new exhibition, forces herself to concentrate and soon finds herself listening raptly as he tells her all about it, adding facts of his own from the books he’s been reading in preparation.

‘Would you like to come too?’ he asks, while Serena is fetching ice cream for dessert.

Surprised, Bernie smiles. ‘I’d love to, Jason. If it’s ok with your Aunt, that is.’

‘If what’s ok with me?’

‘I asked Bernie if she’d like to come with us tomorrow, to the museum.’

Their eyes meet again, Serena’s slightly narrowed in question and Bernie’s wide with hope.

‘Of course,’ she says quietly, smiling. ‘That would be lovely.’

*

They meet at the museum entrance at ten thirty, spend the morning looking at the new exhibition with Jason excitedly telling them about the artefacts, far more information than the boards provide. For the first ten minutes Serena keeps glancing at Bernie as if concerned that she’s bored, but Bernie just smiles at her and listens to Jason, marvelling at his capacity to retain so many facts.

She sits opposite Serena when they have lunch in the museum café, and spends far too much time gazing at her. But their eyes keep meeting, which means Serena must be spending almost as much time looking at her. And when they do meet Serena’s eyes are warm and bright, filled with gratitude and affection.

In the afternoon they wander slowly around some of the permanent exhibitions while Jason attends a talk by one of the curators. To begin with they walk with a few paces between them as they each linger at different spots, occasionally ending up side by side, but as they stand and admire a magnificent [Roman mosaic](http://www.thehistoryblog.com/archives/26443) depicting Orpheus playing a lyre Serena slips her arm through Bernie’s, and leaves it there when they move on.

They return to the café for afternoon tea and share a generous slice of Victoria sandwich cake, Bernie deliberately setting down her fork and picking up her teacup so Serena gets the last bite.

When they part in the car park Jason smiles and says that he hopes he’ll see her again soon. Serena brushes a kiss to Bernie’s cheek, and Bernie feels warm and tingly all the way home.


	5. Half Term (May)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! The remaining chapters are all more substantial than this, promise.

Jason declines Bernie’s invitation for them both to come for dinner in half term, says he’s already arranged to go to the cinema that evening and it’s too late for him to change his plans.

‘I understand,’ Bernie says when Serena tells her. ‘Looks like it’ll just be you and me then. If you want to, that is.’

‘I’d love to,’ Serena says, and Bernie can hear her smile down the phone. ‘Shall I bring the wine?’

‘I’d be worried if you didn’t,’ Bernie teases. ‘I’ll be in all afternoon, so come over whenever you want.’

Serena takes her at her word: Bernie’s doorbell rings at four, makes her jump up and almost spill her tea.

‘I thought you said you had someone coming for dinner later, mum?’ Cam asks, frowning.

‘Like you can talk, turning up without warning,’ Bernie mutters, brushing imaginary creases from her shirt and running a hand through her hair as Cam watches, curiosity piqued.

She opens the door, fights to keep the joy from her face and voice when it is indeed Serena and not someone collecting for charity or trying to sell her double glazing.

‘I hope you don’t mind that I’m so early,’ Serena says.

‘Not at all.’

‘Oh, you’ve got someone here already,’ she frowns, spotting Cam’s trainers by the door. ‘I can go if you–’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Bernie interrupts, her hand fleetingly touching Serena’s arm. ‘Cameron decided to drop by unannounced,’ she explains, raising her voice so he can hear.

‘Money, washing or food?’ Serena asks as they walk into the room.

‘Can’t I just come and see my mother without a reason, because – oh, I don’t know, because I wanted to?’

‘Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,’ Serena says dryly, eyebrow raised, ignoring Bernie’s snort of laughter in favour of continuing to stare at Cameron.

‘Pretty sure it was food,’ Bernie calls from the kitchen, over the sound of the kettle. ‘He seems to have a knack for knowing when there’s a cake cooling.’

‘A baker as well, Ms Wolfe? Aren’t you just full of surprises.’

‘Not as often as I used to,’ Bernie admits, placing a mug of tea and a plate with a thick slice of lemon drizzle on it in front of Serena. ‘Not now I don’t have two teenagers to devour everything.’

‘Mm, Bernie this is delicious,’ Serena almost groans at her first mouthful.

‘Thank you,’ she says quietly, feeling her cheeks heat.

‘If you were wanting to bake more, I can guarantee anything you happened to bring into work would vanish very quickly.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Bernie smiles, tearing her gaze from Serena to see Cam watching her closely, his eyes flicking between the two of them.

Cam stays a little longer then says he’d better be off, says goodbye to Serena and begs another slice of cake from Bernie to take home with him. She wraps it in foil, passes it over and then hugs him tightly at the front door.

‘I can see the way you look at her, Mum,’ he murmurs into her ear.

She draws back and frowns at him.

‘You like her, don’t you?’

‘Serena? She’s a colleague, Cam, a friend. That’s all.’

‘If you say so,’ he says, clearly unconvinced. ‘She looks at you the same way, you know.’

Bernie stares after him, eyes wide and mind racing, slowly closes the door behind him and leans her forehead against the wood for a moment, just breathing.

‘Everything alright?’ Serena calls.

‘Fine,’ Bernie replies, shaking her head and rejoining her, settling in the armchair Cam vacated rather than on the sofa beside her. She thinks maybe a flicker of disappointment crosses Serena’s face but it’s gone before she can be sure.


	6. Term Six (June-July)

Bernie scrolls down the web page of adverts and sighs heavily, runs her hand through her hair and leans back in her chair. Not for the first time she wishes she taught English or Maths or some other core subject that always has a large department.

‘Everything alright?’ Serena asks, peering over her shoulder. ‘What are you looking at?’

‘Jobs for September.’

‘You’re– you’re leaving?’

Bernie hums in reply and keeps scrolling; her eyes fixed on the screen she doesn’t see how Serena’s face drops and her eyes lose their sparkle. ‘Ha look, it’s my old job at St James’. My replacement didn’t last long.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘It was a terrible fit. Can you really imagine me going down well with all those posh, rich parents? But the pay was excellent.’ She sighs again, frowning. ‘I wonder if it would be worth it,’ she says glumly.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ Serena blurts out, and Bernie turns to look at her.

‘Okay,’ she says slowly.

Serena just gazes at her for a moment then leans over her, lightly pressing against her as she moves the mouse and clicks through to find the document she wants, fingers tapping the desk as she waits for it to open.

‘You could stay,’ she says quietly.

Bernie freezes when she sees what’s on the screen in front of her. ‘You– you want me to stay _here_ , in Arthur’s job?’

Serena steps away, hand rising to her collar, her necklace. ‘I know history’s your first love but – well, you’re an excellent music teacher too, and I think you’re a good fit in the department. And I like working with you,’ she adds quietly.

Bernie stares at the computer and then at Serena, stunned and speechless.

‘Just think about it, won’t you?’ Serena pleads. ‘Henrik wants the job spec so he can get the advert out but I can put him off for a few more days.’

Bernie still can’t answer, just keeps staring at her.

‘Well I, uh, I’d better get off,’ Serena murmurs, gathering her things. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Serena?’ Bernie says, finally finding her voice.

‘Yes?’ She turns back to her, eyes wide with hope.

‘You’re wrong. Music was my first love, not history. And– and I would love to stay. If you really want me to.’

‘I do,’ Serena says seriously, breaking into a grin. ‘I really do.’

‘Then I will,’ Bernie says simply, smiling.

*

‘I understand you’re staying with us,’ Raf says with a smile the following morning.

Bernie looks around at Serena who smiles a little sheepishly, a slight blush colouring her cheeks.

‘Think you can cope with that?’

‘I’m sure we’ll manage,’ Raf he teases, patting her on the back.

‘We need to confirm it with Mr Hanssen, obviously,’ Bernie points out.

‘Need to confirm what with me, Ms Wolfe?’ Hanssen asks from the open door.

‘That Bernie will stay on in September,’ Serena says smoothly when Bernie doesn’t reply.

‘An excellent solution,’ Hanssen says with a tiny smile, a note of satisfaction in his voice that makes Serena wonder if he’d been planning to suggest it himself. ‘I shall have HR draw up the paperwork. If you could drop by to sign it later in the week, Ms Wolfe?’

‘Just let me know when it’s ready.’

‘Very well.’

‘What was it you wanted, Henrik?’ Serena asks as he turns to leave.

‘To ask if you had finished preparing the job specification,’ he replies, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘A little redundant now, wouldn’t you say?’

*

Serena practically shoves Bernie out of the classroom last lesson on Friday when she still hasn’t signed her contract.

‘I want it sorted this side of the weekend,’ she insists. ‘Go on, I’ll cover you until you get back.’

Bernie chews her lip and frowns and opens her mouth to argue.

‘Go on,’ Serena repeats, patting her arm. ‘You can thank me with a large glass of Shiraz later.’

‘I’m sure I can manage that,’ Bernie smiles. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘You’ll be as long as it takes. And don’t even think about coming back until you’ve signed.’

So Bernie goes, waits for someone in HR to be free, signs the contract and then waits, fidgeting with her hands and shifting from foot to foot, for Hanssen to have a moment to sign it too.

‘Welcome to Holby permanently, Ms Wolfe,’ he says, shaking her hand.

‘Thank you,’ Bernie smiles. ‘I’d better get back – Ms Campbell’s covering my class for me.’

‘Giving up her Friday afternoon free for you?’ Hanssen asks, head tilted to one side.

‘Only on the promise of wine later,’ Bernie confides. ‘Thank you for agreeing to allow me to stay, Mr Hanssen.’

‘As I told you once before, I trust Ms Campbell’s judgement. And from what I’ve seen I agree with her. I cannot imagine we would easily find a teacher better suited to the department.’

When Bernie quietly slips into the back of the classroom, contract clutched in her hand, she barely suppresses a grin. Serena’s in one of the practice rooms checking the progress of a group, and for a moment Bernie closes her eyes and lets the muffled percussion noises wash over her; it’s chaotic, but she feels her heart swell at the thought that this is _hers_ now – her school, her department, her home. The volume increases a little and she opens her eyes to be met with Serena’s bright eyes and not at all suppressed grin.

‘All done?’ she checks.

Bernie holds up the contract.

‘Excellent. Fancy helping me finish the lesson, Ms Wolfe?’

‘I’d love to,’ Bernie smiles. ‘Which rooms would you like me to deal with?’

‘Five and six, please. Ten more minutes and I’m going to get them back in.’

‘No problem.’ Bernie puts her contract safely on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, watches as Serena goes into practice room three and then slips into room five. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that this is a difficult Year Eight class, that they’re boisterous and lacking concentration because it’s the last lesson of the week.

_I’m staying,_ Bernie thinks, as she leans against the closed door and listens to the group’s Gamelan-inspired work in progress, happiness bubbling inside her. _I get to keep working here, working with Serena._ She can’t remember the last time she looked forward to the new school year this much.

As usual they stay and work for a while after the last bell has gone. Although this week not much work gets done: they’re both far too excited to focus on marking and instead end up discussing September, the things Bernie will need to do over the summer in preparation, the concerts planned for the year, ideas Bernie has about new things they could try.

‘Come on,’ Serena says, almost as soon as the clock has ticked around to five o’ clock. ‘I believe you owe me a drink.’

‘I believe I do,’ Bernie smiles. ‘You joining us, Raf?’

‘Go on then. Just the one, mind I’ve got to pick Evie up from tennis and I do _not_ want to be late.’

So the three of them sit around a table at Albie’s, and Raf smiles into his orange juice and lemonade as their eyes catch, warm and sparkling, over glasses of Shiraz. He wonders if they realise that they can’t stop gazing at each other, wonders if they realise the attraction between them is so strong he can practically feel it.

‘Jason’s at a Doctor Who marathon tonight, right?’ Bernie asks, once Raf has said goodbye and they’re down to their last sips of wine.

‘He is,’ Serena says, surprised Bernie has remembered. ‘Why?’

‘And you, uh– you don’t have any plans?’

‘I don’t. Why?’ Serena repeats.

‘Fancy getting dinner? My treat – to say thank you.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ Serena smiles. ‘But you don’t need to thank me, Bernie. I’d have been a fool not to ask you to stay. I should be the one thanking you, really.’

‘Well I’d have been a fool not to agree,’ Bernie replies, ducking her head and blushing slightly. When she glances up from beneath her fringe it’s to find Serena gazing at her, a soft smile on her face and something in her eyes that makes Bernie’s heart skip a beat. ‘Shall we, then? Dinner, I mean?’ she asks, blinking to clear her head. ‘We can argue over who gets to pay later.’

*

Bernie thinks about that dinner all weekend. The intimate little table with a candle and flower between them. The way Serena’s eyes lit up when she saw the length of the wine list. The way she moaned at the first taste of her risotto. The way she offered Bernie a forkful of her dessert; the way her eyes fixed on Bernie’s when she took the mouthful Bernie offered in exchange. The way Serena’s lips lingered, warm and soft, against her cheek as they said goodnight.

_Was it a date?_ she wonders. _It_ felt _like a date._

On Saturday morning her phone pings with a text, and she opens it to find a selfie from Serena – her sleepy face with a large mug of coffee and a pain au chocolat.

‘It’s medicinal and I blame you ;)’ reads the accompanying message.

‘You could have ordered by the glass,’ Bernie replies.

‘I’m sorry, Serena Campbell – have we met?’

Bernie imagines the teasing spark in Serena’s eyes, the smile tugging at her lips. Imagines smiling back at her, imagines sitting opposite her with her own coffee and pastry. Ghosts her finger over the photograph on her phone screen and imagines gazing at Serena’s features, makeup-less and a little bleary and still so beautiful, from across the kitchen table.

She thinks about Serena as she packs away her online shop, as she sorts the laundry, as she sits in front of a film with Ziggy curled on her lap. Tries not to think about it the next morning as she changes her bedding.

_She’s never said she’s interested in women. Could she be?_

She makes a list in her head, fills it with every glance Serena has directed at her, every teasing comment. Every lingering look and flash of her eyes, every smile and blush. Every brush of Serena’s hand against her arm or shoulder or back, every time she’s chosen to sit close to her, every kiss goodbye.

_Maybe she is. But she’s also your colleague – for the foreseeable future now. Don’t muck it up, Wolfe, don’t destroy another friendship._

*

‘Bugger,’ Serena mutters.

‘Alright?’ Bernie asks, looking up from her marking.

They’re sat in the office together, Bernie bent over Year Nine exam papers and Serena attempting to fix a broken wooden agogo.

‘Caught my nail on the screwdriver,’ she explains, digging around in her handbag.

Bernie watches as Serena examines her long thumbnail, lips pursed and brow creased, as she takes a nail file and carefully smooths it, fingertip running over the edge to check that the damage is fixed. Her heart drops and she looks down at the exam paper again, but can’t concentrate on it because she feels too foolish.

_How have I never noticed?_ she berates herself. _All the hours I’ve spent watching her hands as she conducts and I never spotted that she has long nails? Wishful thinking,_ she adds scornfully.

‘Bernie?’

She raises her head to find Serena looking at her expectantly. ‘Sorry, zoned out for a minute there. Think I’ve marked too many exam papers this week.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Serena grimaces. ‘I, uh, I just wondered if you fancied coming for dinner at the weekend? Jason’s been asking after you, I think he’d quite like to see you again.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ Bernie makes herself smile. And then she shakes her head a little and her eyes crinkle as her smile becomes genuine. Because dinner with Serena – and Jason – will be wonderful, regardless of Serena’s interest in women (in _her_ ) or otherwise.

And it’ll be summer soon. Six long weeks to get over her unrequited crush, to shore up her heart against Serena’s ceaseless, intrinsic flirting. To stop herself before she falls irreversibly in love with her best friend.


	7. Summer Holiday (July-August)

Bernie’s sat in a deckchair on her little patio with Charlotte, waiting for Cameron to come back out with fresh bottles of cider, when she hears her phone ring from where she left it on the kitchen counter.

‘I’ll get it, Mum,’ Cam calls. He steps outside with three bottles in his hands and the phone held between his ear and his shoulder. ‘Yep, she’s right here, I’ll just pass you over.’

Bernie frowns at him as he bends and she takes the phone, but he just shakes his head and smiles.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, it’s me – Serena.’

‘Miss me already, Campbell?’ she teases. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘There’s a concert next Wednesday – Bach violin sonatas and partitas one and three. I wondered if you might like to go together?’

‘You had me at Bach,’ Bernie smiles. ‘When and where?’

‘Eight at St. George’s, but I thought maybe we could get dinner first? And share a taxi, so neither of us has to forego a glass of wine at the interval?’

‘God forbid I deprive you of Shiraz,’ Bernie says, laughing. ‘Sounds good – dinner and the taxi.’

‘Great. Pick you up at six?’

‘I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Serena.’

‘Night.’

Bernie sets her phone on the table beside her, picks up her cider and takes a swig. ‘What?’ she asks when she looks up to find both her children looking at her.

‘You’ve got a date,’ Charlotte grins.

‘What? No I haven’t.’

‘She’s asked you to go to a concert with her,’ Cam says, counting on his fingers. ‘And dinner.’

‘Yes, but–’

‘And she’s picking you up,’ Charlotte adds.

‘So we can both have a glass of wine,’ Bernie protests.

‘It’s a date,’ Cam says, looking at his sister.

‘We’re just friends,’ Bernie protests.

‘A date,’ Charlie agrees.

‘She’s not interested,’ Bernie insists.

‘Have you asked her?’ Charlie asks, eyebrows raised. ‘Actually _asked_ her, Mum?’

‘No but–’

‘So how can you be sure?’

‘I just am,’ she says with an air of finality, in the hopes that it’ll stop them asking.

‘How?’ Cam insists.

‘Just drop it, Cameron,’ Bernie snaps, and then instantly fills with guilt and softens. ‘Sorry.’ She sighs and slumps in her deckchair, picking at the label on her bottle.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Cam says.

‘She’s my best friend,’ Bernie explains, a note of anguish in her voice. ‘I don’t want to ruin that.’

Cam opens his mouth to argue, but Charlotte shoots him a pointed look and shakes her head. ‘We just want you to be happy, mum,’ she says.

‘I know,’ Bernie smiles. ‘And I am.’

*

Serena takes her to a fancy little bistro Bernie has often passed but never been to. They both pore over the menu, agonise over what to choose because everything sounds so good.

‘Why don’t we get different things and share?’ Serena suggests eventually. ‘That way we only have to narrow it down to two.’

‘Excellent plan,’ Bernie agrees.

So they end up with two plates between them and take forkfuls from each, share dessert too and then lean back in their chairs, comfortably full, to finish their wine. Bernie tries not to think about how wonderful Serena looks in the low lighting, tries not to think about the way their feet keep knocking under the table, the way Serena is looking at her with warm eyes and a soft smile. The way Serena has worn a dress, the way she slips her hand into the crook of Bernie’s elbow as they slowly walk to the church the concert is being held in and it feels like it belongs there.

The concert is good. At least, what Bernie hears of it is good. She tries very hard to focus on the music, to keep her eyes fixed on the solo violinist. But Serena is sitting far closer to her than is strictly necessary, and Bernie can feel every time she shifts on the uncomfortable pew.

They both agree on the need to stretch their legs and wake numb muscles during the interval, so Bernie dutifully collects two glasses of wine and then leans against a pillar to wait for Serena to come back from the bathroom.

‘Not Shiraz, I’m afraid, but decent enough,’ she apologises.

‘Can’t have everything, I suppose,’ Serena smiles. Her fingers brush Bernie’s as she takes the proffered glass; Bernie barely manages to suppress a shiver, when Serena raises her eyebrows in question blames it on the thinness of her shirt and the coolness of the church.

When they retake their seats for the second half Serena somehow manages to sit even closer. Bernie can feel her warmth, almost blazing, pressed against her side from shoulder to knee, for a moment allows herself to close her eyes and relish the sensation before forcing herself to focus on the violinist again.

She’s doing rather well, helped by the fact that she’s being lulled by the music and that Serena is fidgeting less now, until the _Largo._ Suddenly Serena reaches for Bernie’s hand where it rests in her lap; at first she just covers it but then grips lightly, her fingers curling around the edge of Bernie’s palm. She only moves it to applaud at the end of the sonata, then catches at Bernie’s hand and laces their fingers, guiding them to rest on her thigh; for the rest of the concert Bernie can feel every twitch of her fingers in time with the music.

‘I used to love playing those,’ Serena says quietly as, arm in arm again, they head in search of a taxi. ‘I was never that good, of course, but passable.’

‘I’m sure you were more than just passable,’ Bernie smiles, bumping her shoulder.

‘I’ve already given you a job, Ms Wolfe,’ Serena says with a laugh. ‘No need for flattery.’

‘Never hurts to flatter the boss,’ Bernie teases. ‘You might decide you don’t like me by the end of September, after all.’

‘I can’t imagine ever not liking you,’ Serena says quietly, not looking at Bernie, and Bernie feels her heart skip a beat.

When they pull up outside Bernie’s, Serena insists on getting out of the taxi and walking her to her door.

‘Thank you for coming with me,’ she says softly.

‘Thank you for inviting me,’ Bernie replies. ‘I’ve had a lovely evening.’

‘Me too,’ Serena smiles. She hesitates for a moment and then leans closer, one hand slipping around Bernie’s waist. ‘Goodnight Bernie,’ she murmurs, right into Bernie’s ear, before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek.

Bernie’s cheek tingles from that moment until she finally falls asleep. And as she lies in bed, no matter how hard she tries she can’t shake the image of Serena’s fingers, delicate and strong and dexterous, moving on the neck of a violin.

*

Thanks to commitments with their respective children and holidays that don’t even overlap, let alone coincide, Bernie doesn’t see Serena for the entirety of August. It is, she thinks, probably a good thing: time and space apart, a chance to deal with her feelings for Serena before the new school year starts.

By the time September arrives she thinks it’s worked. She will always think Serena is gorgeous – how could she not? – and will always want to spend time with her – she’s her best friend, of course she does. But surely the longing to see her now is just the result of a month apart, of wanting to hear all about her summer, of being excited about getting to work together, of being a proper, permanent member of a department for the first time in years. The dreams, at least, have lessened – the hot, dark ones that leave her aroused and guilty in equal measure – and her waking thoughts are certainly more platonic too. Serena is her friend, and she is Serena’s, and that’s all there is to it.

The moment she steps into the classroom for their planned departmental meeting the Friday before term starts she realises she was fooling herself. Her heart races and swoops when Serena looks up and smiles at her, and she wonders how on earth she could have thought this would go away. She takes a deep breath as she sits opposite Serena, carefully tucks her feet under her chair so that they won’t knock against Serena’s and pulls out her lesson planner.

‘All ready and raring to go?’ Serena asks, her eyes sparkling.

‘Definitely,’ Bernie replies, incapable of not smiling back at her.

‘Not regretting your decision?’ Raf teases.

‘Not on your life,’ Bernie says. ‘I can’t wait to get stuck in.’

She tries desperately to ignore how rested and glowing and beautiful Serena is, how she’s lightly tanned and has had her hair trimmed, shakes her head slightly and looks down at her notes but can’t keep from glancing across at Serena from behind her fringe. She picks up her pen and fidgets with it to stop herself from reaching for Serena’s hand, resting so temptingly on the table between them.

It’s a relief when Serena gives them their finalised teaching timetables and class lists, when they start talking about work and Bernie has to focus because even with all of Arthur’s notes and the time she spent exploring the filing cabinets full of resources she still feels she has a lot of catching up to do.

*

‘Oh Bernie, hope you’re free on Saturday,’ Raf says as he’s about to leave to relieve the babysitter of the kids.

‘Why, what’s happening on Saturday?’

‘End of summer barbecue at ours. Food, drink, playing with the kids.’

‘Music,’ Serena adds, smiling. ‘So bring your cello.’

‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ Raf reassures her. ‘Nothing serious.’

‘Especially not after we’ve had a few drinks,’ Serena smirks, obviously thinking of previous occasions.

‘Less said about that the better,’ Raf mutters. ‘Come any time after four.’

‘And if you were to bring a cake the kids will love you forever,’ Serena says with a wink.

‘The adults too,’ Raf grins. ‘See you both then.’

The two of them spend another hour in the department, Bernie forcing herself to focus on gathering the last bits out of the filing cabinet to get her through the first couple of weeks, checking the contents of each folder and running off more copies of some of the sheets. She needs to get used to being around Serena again, needs to get used to not gazing at her across the classroom, to not reacting when Serena touches her.

_You can do this,_ she tells herself firmly when Serena’s hand lingers on her arm as they part in the car park.

*          *          *

Evie opens the door to find Bernie with a cake tin in each hand and her cello slung over her shoulder, and grins at her.

‘Serena says you’re a really good baker,’ she says, taking one of the tins from her.

‘Serena just wants more free cake,’ Bernie teases, voice just loud enough to carry through the house.

‘Ms Wolfe, I’m hurt that you could think such a thing of me,’ Serena calls. ‘The cakes are just an added bonus to getting your lovely company.’

Bernie blushes at this, is glad Serena’s in another room and can’t see her.

‘That one needs to go in the fridge, Evie,’ she says quietly.

‘No problem.’

‘And no peeking,’ Bernie calls, putting her cello down in a corner and following her into the kitchen. ‘Ah, I said no peeking, Mikey.’

‘Sorry,’ he says, unapologetically. ‘What is it?’

‘A surprise,’ Serena says dryly. ‘At least, that’s what it usually is if you’re told not to look.’

Bernie’s glad she’s already put the second cake tin down because when she sees Serena all her muscles suddenly feel weak. She’s wearing a blouse Bernie’s never seen before, and a new lipstick colour Bernie wants nothing more than to kiss from her smiling lips, and Bernie has to remind herself to breathe. She’s so busy doing that that she doesn’t notice Serena’s eyes raking her figure, lingering on the hair she didn’t have time to do anything with because she was fighting with the pile of cake tins in her kitchen cupboard, and then again on her legs in tight black jeans.

‘Two cakes?’ Serena asks, eyebrows raised.

‘I didn’t think one would be enough – not with the four of us and four kids – and Fletch’s at that,’ she replies, winking at Mikey.

‘I can tell you’ve got kids,’ Raf laughs. ‘Means Fletch actually stands a chance of getting some when he gets back.’

‘He’s not here?’ Bernie frowns.

‘He’s been away working this weekend, should have been back today but thanks to illness he’s got to do an extra show so won’t be be back tomorrow – and he’ll be very grateful for some cake, I can tell you. So you’ll have to make do with just me, I’m afraid. Now, can I get you a drink?’

They spend the afternoon playing outside with the kids. Bernie finds herself dragged up to play football by Mikey but he soon sends her to sit down again when it turns out her coordination is terrible.

‘My son was exasperated with me when he was your age too,’ she tells him.

Of course, it doesn’t help that she kept getting distracted, looking over to where Serena and Evie are sat together talking far more than she was following the ball.

‘Make yourself useful and start getting food on the barbecue then, would you?’ Raf asks as Theo tackles his leg and he carefully collapses to the floor with an exaggerated groan, the toddler cackling with glee.

‘Well I suppose someone had better make sure we get fed, and it doesn’t look like you’re in a fit state to do it,’ she teases.

They sit on picnic blankets to eat, Ella plonking herself decidedly by Bernie after a strawberry sneaked from a bowl and a peek at the cheesecake in the fridge banish her initial wariness. And once the burgers and sausages and grilled chicken and vegetables are all finished Bernie goes inside to fetch dessert, Evie quickly volunteering to help her.

‘You don’t know where the knives and things are,’ she reasons.

‘Quite right,’ Bernie smiles, winking at Raf behind the girl’s back. ‘Good job you’re here to show me.’

Bernie unclips the springform tin around the cheesecake, holds her breath as she carefully loosens it and breathes a sigh of relief when it doesn’t collapse into a mess on the plate Evie found for her. She does almost drop it, however, when Serena’s hand lights on her elbow.

‘Looks lovely,’ she says approvingly as Bernie fights to get her breath back. ‘You might want to hide some though. If you take the whole thing out Fletch isn’t going to be getting any.’

So Bernie carefully slices it into thin wedges while Evie does the same with the lemon and blueberry cake, and they and Serena ferry paper plates with a piece of each outside. There’s some of each left but she remembers what her kids were like when they were younger and heeds Serena’s advice, asks Evie for a Tupperware box and puts generous slices inside for Fletch, leaves the rest out on the counter ready for seconds, fully expecting not to have any leftovers to take home with her.

Dessert goes down well, the garden falling silent save for appreciative hums. Bernie focuses on Ella, on keeping her from making too much mess, tries very hard not to glance at Serena as she licks cheesecake and fruit compote from her lips and her fingers.

After Raf has put Theo and Ella to bed – with Bernie’s help, at Ella’s insistence – they move inside and settle around the piano. It turns out Raf shares their penchant for early music. They start with a set of [Renaissance dances](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7jM0JKthwo), Serena and Bernie providing the continuo, Raf playing oboe and Serena persuading Evie to join them on her flute; no amount of coaxing will persuade Mikey to get out his French horn.

By the time they get to the last dance, having stopped for more drinks and nibbles between pieces, Evie is starting to flag and Mikey’s eyelids are drooping where he’s sat on the sofa playing a game on his tablet. Raf sends them both up to bed, ignoring their protests and Evie’s argument that she won’t be able to sleep anyway because they’ll still be playing so she may as well stay up, and passes around some more music. They hack their way through an [oboe concerto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgcOz2iZy1M), and then Raf hands some music to Serena, cocking his head in question. She smiles and nods, stands up and disappears behind one of the sofas.

Bernie realises she can’t remember the last time she played in an ensemble with other adults, with people who actually know how to play their instruments and can make a nice sound rather than kids who are still learning, and can’t keep herself from smiling widely at how lovely it is.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ Raf asks, sitting at the piano as they hear an instrument case being opened.

‘Definitely,’ Bernie replies. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Well you’re part of the family now,’ Serena smiles, standing up and taking Raf’s seat.

‘That’s right – no escape,’ Raf teases.

Bernie has to fight very hard not to gape at Serena. She’d been expecting her to be holding her violin, but she isn’t. Instead, Bernie watches as she settles herself and tunes a guitar, a soft frown on her face as she plays delicate harmonics and a few chords.

_Guitar,_ Bernie thinks almost wildly, automatically taking the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBJ8BmFPt3U) Raf holds out to her but barely glancing at it. _Her nails. Guitarist’s nails._

She misses her first note then fumbles through the next few bars, tries to pull herself together and ignore her racing heart and the possibilities swirling in her mind; she’s played enough wrong notes and drawn enough raised eyebrows from Raf that she needs to focus, otherwise she’ll never hear the end of this.

Her part in the second movement is slow, all long sustained notes to sit under Serena’s intricate, embellished melody. Bernie allows herself to glance over the top of her music and watch Serena’s hands as she caresses the strings, watch the changing expressions on her face. The guitar fits so perfectly in her arms, and for one idle moment Bernie imagines being held by her, being caressed by her with that much care.

And then they’re onto the third movement and she has to concentrate again because the bars go by at an alarming pace and, her fingers a little clumsy with tiredness and alcohol, she struggles to keep up with the relentless tempo Raf has set, wonders how on earth Serena is coping because her part has even more notes.

‘Bit quick, Raf,’ Serena says when they reach the end, shaking her hands and flexing her fingers.

‘Thought you liked a challenge,’ he teases.

‘I, uh, I didn’t realise you played guitar,’ Bernie says quietly.

‘Have I not mentioned it?’ Serena frowns, and Bernie shakes her head. ‘No, I suppose I wouldn’t have. I rarely get the opportunity to play at work.’

‘You’re very good,’ Bernie smiles a little shyly.

‘Thank you,’ Serena replies, a slight blush colouring her cheeks. ‘I should hope so, the amount of years I’ve been playing,’ she adds with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, classical guitarists (myself included) have short nails on their left hand and long nails on their right. They also take very good care of these long nails because they're what produces the sound, so the correct shape and a smooth edge are vital - hence Serena instantly fixing the damage in the previous chapter.


	8. Term One (September-October)

The new school year starts smoothly enough, and every morning Serena finds herself excited to go to work. She rationalises it as being because she’s free from the responsibilities of being deputy head – as being the first year in quite some time when she’s been able to focus entirely on her teaching, her subject, her department. But she knows it’s more than that, and since seeing Bernie again after a month apart she isn’t going to deny it to herself – particularly not after the first orchestra rehearsal of the term.

They only have one student learning the cello now, so Bernie has moved to sit beside him in the front desk. Which means she’s just feet from Serena, with those ridiculously long legs cradling her cello – and Serena can’t stop thinking about Bernie’s legs as it is, finds herself senselessly jealous of Bernie’s cello, finds herself idly wondering what it would be like to have them wrapped around _her_ instead. And she can feel Bernie’s eyes on her over the top of her music; she’s setting the perfect example to the kids, of course, by keeping the conductor in her sights at all times, but Serena wishes she wouldn’t. She has to stop looking in that direction quite as often as she would otherwise, every now and then forgets and almost falters in her beating of the tempo, misses cuing an entry altogether because she glances at Bernie and their eyes meet.

It had been playing on her mind before the summer, but now it’s unavoidable and undeniable.

_I fancy the hell out of her,_ Serena thinks, allowing herself half a glass of Shiraz that evening even though it’s the middle of the week and she had promised herself that she would at least start out with better habits this year. And then she sighs, loudly and deeply enough that Jason frowns at her for disturbing his documentary watching. _So what am I going to do about it?_

Because she thinks Bernie is interested in her too. Serena might have only minimal experience in Sapphic affairs but she does know attraction when she sees it. Which begs the question: why hasn’t Bernie done anything about it?

_Well, if she won’t then I will. It’s not like I don’t know how to flirt…_

She starts gently – it wouldn’t do to unsettle Bernie enough to disrupt her teaching, after all. She allows her eyes to rake Bernie’s figure, lets her fingers linger a beat too long when she passes Bernie her coffee, meets her gaze across the room, reaches to touch her on any excuse. Bernie blushes and stutters and ducks her head – but she doesn’t pull away from Serena’s touch, doesn’t seem able to resist glancing at her just one more time from beneath her fringe, can’t stop the warmth in her eyes and her smile every morning when she walks into the office to find Serena already there.

*

They’re sat in the office one Thursday after school in companionable silence – Serena at the desk working on an arrangement for the Year Eight choir, Bernie in the closest chair writing in her lesson planner, Raf beside her reading through his notes for tomorrow’s Year Ten lesson – when Serena’s phone pings. She takes her eyes from the score on screen and hums in surprised happiness when she reads the message.

‘One of my old guitar students,’ she explains when the others look at her. ‘She and her duo partner are playing in Holby in a couple of weeks.’

‘Nice of her to let you know,’ Raf smiles. ‘You going to go?’

‘If I’m free,’ Serena replies, reaching for her diary and flipping through the pages. ‘Which I am.’ She types a reply, gets another message back almost instantly and stares at it for a moment, considering. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy coming, Bernie?’ she asks casually, even though she can feel her heart racing.

Bernie looks at her, surprised, and then smiles. ‘I didn’t fidget too much for your liking at the last concert we went to, then?’ she teases.

‘Not at all. She’s, uh, she’s invited me to join them for dinner beforehand too?’

‘I wouldn’t want to intrude,’ Bernie frowns.

‘You wouldn’t be,’ Serena assures her hurriedly.

Their eyes meet, Bernie’s questioning and Serena’s hopeful, almost pleading. Neither of them notices Raf’s gaze flicking between the two of them, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement.

‘If you’re sure,’ Bernie says quietly, ‘then I’d love to.’

‘A date?’ Raf asks Serena in an undertone when Bernie has slipped from the office to fetch something from one of the classrooms.

‘No,’ Serena says quickly, tugging at the hair at the nape of her neck, colour rising on her cheeks.

Raf raises his eyebrows and keeps looking at her.

‘No,’ she repeats, sighing.

‘But you’d like it to be?’ he guesses.

Serena takes a breath, but before she can reply Bernie walks back into the room. Raf watches as Serena’s gaze lingers on Bernie, as her blush deepens when Bernie catches her staring, and shakes his head slightly. He remembers when he first fell for Fletch, those weeks and months of tentative flirting, of not being quite sure how he felt about Fletch or how Fletch felt about him. Serena turns back to the computer and Bernie keeps glancing at her instead of at her work, fingers fiddling with the edge of the top sheet. Raf hopes it isn’t going to take them as long to get their act together as it did him and Fletch, vows to do something to give them a nudge in the right direction if it comes to that.

*

Serena is enjoying herself immensely. Flirting with Bernie, now she’s doing it on purpose, turns out to be incredibly rewarding. Because blushing, stammering, fidgeting Bernie is adorable, and the heat in her eyes warms Serena right through.

But then as they’re rehearsing the Year Eight choir at lunchtime, Serena sat at the piano and Bernie stood behind the kids singing with them, Serena finds herself wrong-footed. It’s a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AEoUa0Hlso) about realisation – about seeing a person and realising what you want to be – and when she looks up Bernie is gazing at her, singing _to_ her. Her fingers are suddenly clumsy on the keyboard; she fumbles one chord, then another, blinks and refocuses on the music, ignores the way her hands are trembling and her heart is fluttering. She avoids looking at Bernie for the rest of the rehearsal, even though she’s desperate to. When she does dare to look at her she has her back turned and her hands in her pockets, is talking to one of the girls as the rest of the choir files from the room.

_I know exactly what I want,_ Serena thinks, breathless and giddy, her gaze raking up and down Bernie’s ( _perfect, gorgeous_ ) figure.

And then Bernie turns. Serena blushes but doesn’t look away, feels her breath quicken as Bernie’s own eyes trace her from head to toe and then meet her own. The woman is practically _smouldering_ , for goodness sake. And oh, was that a wink? Serena isn’t quite sure; Bernie’s eyes are so narrowed it could just have been a flicker of her eyelid. With a little toss of her hair she’s gone, sauntering from the room leaving Serena staring after her – until the sound of the door opening behind her makes her jump, and she clears her throat and tries to make it look like she was studying the sheet of paper in her hands.

Raf, however, isn’t fooled. He recognises the longing on Serena’s face, the want in her eyes. Besides, to the best of his knowledge Serena can’t read upside down.

Serena doesn’t see Bernie for the rest of the afternoon; after registration she has a history lesson and doesn’t come back in between, and for once Serena’s glad. At least her Year Seven class will offer a brief respite before orchestra – not something she ever expected to think. Having Bernie sat a few feet from her was difficult before but now, after this? Even anticipating it makes her feel a little weak at the knees.

She’s fifteen minutes into her lesson, is just getting the class to move onto the computers and open up percussion scores to work on, when Hanssen steps into the room, looking grave and serious as ever.

‘What can I do for you, Mr Hanssen?’

‘There will be an email to all staff shortly but I wanted to see the Heads of Department in person first,’ he begins.

‘About what?’ Serena asks suspiciously.

‘I received a call from OFSTED.’

Serena groans and pinches the bridge of her nose, all thoughts of Bernie and flirting flying from her head. ‘Tomorrow?’

Hanssen inclines his head in confirmation. ‘Do you have a lunchtime rehearsal they could observe, if they so desire?’

‘Year Seven choir. Not perhaps our best behaved group, but large and certainly enthusiastic.’

‘Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and spread the news.’

Serena’s about to stop him, to call out asking if there’s anything else she can do. And then she remembers that she’s no longer his deputy, no longer has any more responsibility for this than any other Head of Department. She feels a tiny pang – but then she remembers the stack of marking in the office that she’s been putting off but that will have to be done ready for tomorrow now, remembers the chaos and stress of their last OFSTED inspection and it’s replaced by relief – and gratitude towards Bernie for prompting her decision.

_Bernie_ , she thinks, this time with a smile instead of a rush of desire. There’s no one she’d rather have by her side for this.

*

Serena sees neither hide nor hair of the inspectors until lunchtime. She and Bernie are standing by the piano conferring over which song to begin with while the kids eat lunch and chat; over the noise, neither of them notice that anyone else has entered the classroom until someone clears their throat.

‘Imelda,’ Serena says, her voice and smile bright enough that only Bernie notices the underlying distaste. ‘I had no idea you were on the inspection team.’

‘You two know each other?’ Bernie asks.

‘Intimately,’ Imelda replies.

‘Intimately?’ Bernie frowns, glancing at Serena.

‘She just means we go back a long way,’ Serena mutters.

‘Yes, we worked together in London when we were both fresh out of teacher training, didn’t we?’

‘We did indeed. And you’ve since gone over to the dark side and had the pleasure of perusing my exercise books and scribbling copious notes criticising my teaching style.’

‘And here I am again,’ Imelda says brightly. ‘It’ll be just like old times.’

‘Oh goody,’ Serena says wryly. ‘I’m sorry, you two haven’t met have you? Bernie, this is Imelda Cousins, Imelda – Bernie Wolfe, newest member of the department.’

‘Ah yes,’ Imelda says, taking the hand Bernie offers. ‘I understand you haven’t taught music for some time, Ms Wolfe – how are you finding it?’

Bernie senses Serena stiffen beside her, gently touches her arm on the pretence of reaching across her to take a sheet of music from the piano. ‘Just fine, thank you. Loving every second, in fact,’ she smiles. ‘Serena and Mr di Lucca have been most helpful and supportive.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Imelda smiles. ‘I look forward to seeing you in action.’

‘I’m sorry, would you excuse us Imelda? We really need to get started.’

‘Of course. Just pretend I’m not here.’

‘Gladly,’ Serena mutters under her breath as Imelda walks away to sit in a corner of the classroom.

‘Okay?’ Bernie asks quietly.

Serena nods and offers her a tight smile. ‘Let’s just get on, shall we? Hopefully she won’t stay long.’

In fact, Serena soon forgets all about Imelda; they have sixty noisy kids to keep control of, after all. Plus every time she looks up Bernie smiles at her, which somehow both settles her and makes it hard to concentrate on anything. By the time she remembers and glances across the room there’s just an empty chair, and she breathes a sigh of relief because another conversation with Imelda is the last thing she needs.

*

To Serena’s surprise, she doesn’t see Imelda again. She had fully expected her to turn up to inspect one of her lessons – the one with the most challenging students, naturally – but Friday lunchtime comes around without her sticking her nose in, and Serena feels some of the tension drain away because she knows she’s done all she can to help the school keep its ‘Outstanding’ grade.

By the time the string players have all eaten their lunch and are ready to rehearse, Bernie still hasn’t made an appearance. Serena slips from the room, finds her slumped at the teacher’s desk in the other classroom, rubbing her eyes.

‘Everything alright?’ she asks softly.

Bernie looks up and sighs. ‘Ms Cousins,’ she explains.

‘Ah. I did wonder why she didn’t come and disrupt my lesson,’ Serena says, coming to lean against the desk beside her. ‘Everything go ok?’

‘Miraculously, yes. Felt like she was just hoping for a disaster, though.’

‘Knowing Imelda, she probably was,’ Serena says dryly, reaching to lightly touch Bernie’s hand.

Their eyes meet and Serena smiles, gently squeezes Bernie’s hand and waits for her to smile in return before letting go and standing.

‘I’ll be through in a minute,’ Bernie assures her.

‘Don’t worry about it. You deserve an actual lunch break after an Imelda encounter.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘Of course,’ Serena smiles. ‘I’ll see you later.’

*

‘Ah, I’m glad I’ve caught you all,’ Hanssen says when he sticks his head around the office door after school.

The three of them rouse themselves from where they’re sat in the comfy chairs, look at him expectantly.

‘I’m sure you will be delighted to hear that the school has retained its ‘Outstanding’ judgement,’ he smiles. ‘The inspectors especially commented on the high standard of teaching and extracurricular activities on offer in the music department, so congratulations to all of you.’

‘Really?’ Serena asks, eyebrows raised. ‘Imelda said that?’

‘Ms Cousins was very complimentary, both about the rehearsal she attended and about Ms Wolfe’s teaching. You seem to have impressed her greatly.’

Serena looks at Bernie, smiles at the slight blush colouring her cheeks.

‘Obviously this is not yet public knowledge, so I trust I can rely on you to keep it to yourselves until the full report is published?’

‘Of course,’ Serena replies. She watches Hanssen leave, then turns to the others. ‘Pub?’ she suggests. ‘I think this is worth celebrating, don’t you?’

They end up around a table at Albie’s, split a bottle of Prosecco to toast their success and then move on to wine.

‘Did Serena tell you about the last time Imelda was on the inspection team?’ Raf asks as he pours them each a glass. ‘It was hilarious.’

‘It was mortifying,’ Serena corrects him.

‘Oh come on, you’ve got to tell me now.’

‘I didn’t recognise her.’

‘Is that all?’ Bernie asks, her face falling.

‘Oh no,’ Raf assures her, grinning. ‘It’s _way_ better than that.’

‘I didn’t recognise her,’ Serena repeats. ‘And then I misremembered her. Turns out she wasn’t, in fact, the friend I used to mercilessly tease another teacher with but the teacher a friend and I were less than nice to.’

Bernie’s mouth drops open. ‘No?’ she breathes.

‘Yes. Oh, it was awful,’ Serena says, and then giggles.

‘The look on your face when you realised,’ Raf manages between sniggers.

‘It was– it was weeks – _months_ – before Fletch stopped going on about it,’ Serena wheezes.

Bernie snorts. ‘I bet he had a field day with that.’

‘You have no idea,’ Raf grins.

‘Not the worst OFSTED story I’ve heard though.’

‘No?’ Serena asks, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Bernie shakes her head. ‘A colleague of Marcus’ once had to leave mid lesson and had arranged for cover. This woman walked in and he assumed she was a new teacher, dashed off and left her to it. Didn’t find out until he came in next morning that it was actually an inspector.’

Serena practically shrieks with laughter at this, tears spilling over again as Raf splutters into his wine.

They finish the bottle reminiscing over past inspection experiences, consider another but Serena says she’d better get home for Jason. So instead they slip on their coats and head for the door, step out into the quiet darkness. Serena turns to find Raf no longer with them, and Bernie far closer than she anticipated.

‘Thank you,’ she says softly, her hand light on Bernie’s elbow.

‘You’re very welcome,’ Bernie smiles, holding her gaze steadily. ‘But it’s down to you really, Serena. It’s your department and – well, you gave me a chance.’

‘I’m glad I did.’

‘So am I,’ Bernie murmurs. ‘I’d, uh, I’d better let you go. Don’t want to get you into trouble with Jason.’

Serena smiles and squeezes Bernie’s arm. ‘I’ll see you on Monday, then.’

‘See you Monday.’

They both lean in but somehow misjudge things and instead of Serena’s lips landing on Bernie’s cheek they catch the corner of her mouth. She draws back a little, meets Bernie’s wide, dark eyes and is just about to lean in again – to kiss her properly, deliberately – when the door opens, spilling light and noise into the car park.

‘Sorry, got caught by Sacha,’ Raf apologises.

Serena clears her throat, pulls her hand away to toy with her scarf as Bernie ducks her head and stuffs her hands into her pockets. Raf catches her eye and frowns; Serena feels her cheeks heat and hopes it’s dark enough that he can’t see.

*

_Did I misread her?_ Serena wonders in the middle of the following week, sitting with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of her nose.

Because Bernie has been nervy and unsettled all week. She jumps when Serena touches her, keeps a careful distance between them as much as she can, looks at her only fleetingly, eyes mostly hidden behind her fringe so Serena can’t make out her expression. Serena longs to reach and grasp at her arm, to make Bernie meet her eye for longer than a second, to coax Bernie to talk until secrets spill from her lips. Longs to kiss her again – properly this time, her mouth slanted across Bernie’s, until neither of them can breathe. But Bernie isn’t one for talking, is she? And if the merest accidental brush of the corners of their lips has this effect – well, anything more risks having her either running for the hills or curling so far in on herself she might never re-emerge.

Serena can be a patient woman. Bernie, she strongly suspects, will be worth waiting for.

*

‘Are you, uh, are you still alright for Sunday?’ Serena asks hesitantly on Friday afternoon, when Bernie is halfway into her coat and can’t possibly escape without answering her.

‘I, um,’ Bernie begins, and then pauses. She looks at Serena, eyes wide as she searches her face. ‘Yes,’ she says quietly, when Serena smiles softly, encouragingly.

‘Good,’ Serena says. She can’t stop herself reaching to pat Bernie’s arm, notes that Bernie doesn’t flinch this time. Instead her eyes widen, drop to where they’re touching and linger on Serena’s hand – on the fingers curling around her arm – for a moment.

‘I’ll see you then,’ Bernie murmurs eventually, slipping from Serena’s grasp, from her sight.

*          *          *

Serena sticks her head around the door of the restaurant over the road from the little theatre, her heart sinking when she sees that Morven and a young blonde woman are sat alone at a table, with no sign of Bernie. She considers waiting for her outside – even though it’s chilly and damp, even though she’s here for Morven – but then Morven looks around and grins when she spots her, rushes over and throws her arms around her in a tight hug, practically drags her over and introduces her to Jasmine.

Serena tries very hard to pay attention, fiddles with her napkin and refuses to allow herself to check her phone; Bernie said she’d be here, so she’ll be here. Jasmine draws her into conversation but she still looks up every time the door opens – until eventually Bernie comes in, her cheeks flushed and her hair and coat sparkling with tiny drops of rain. Serena’s heart seems to stop, and then race.

Bernie looks around the restaurant. Her eyes land on Serena then dart away, keep flicking back and forth like she’s isn’t certain if she wants to be here or not. But when Morven follows Serena’s gaze and jumps up to welcome Bernie she smiles, allows the girl to usher her over to sit beside her, opposite Jasmine.

Serena barely manages to greet her. Because Bernie has shrugged off her jacket and underneath she’s wearing – not a suit, but a crisp white shirt and fitted black blazer with her usual skinny black jeans, and Serena’s throat has gone dry.

‘You okay?’ Bernie asks quietly, eyes narrowed and brow creased.

Serena nods furiously and sips her wine. She’s about to open her mouth to tell Bernie how wonderful she looks when the waiter comes to take their order. _A good job, probably,_ she thinks, tugging at her pendant. _Just get through the evening without making her uncomfortable, hm?_

She manages it through dinner, enjoys catching up with Morven and getting to know Jasmine, enjoys seeing Bernie loosen enough to join the conversation. And then the girls excuse themselves to go and prepare for the concert.

‘No, you stay and finish your drinks, get some dessert,’ Jasmine insists when Bernie begins to rise too.

Serena gets up, hugs Jasmine briefly and Morven tightly, whispers to her to break a leg.

‘See you later,’ Morven smiles.

And then they’re gone, and she’s alone with Bernie.

‘Dessert?’ she asks.

‘If there’s something you fancy,’ Bernie replies.

_You,_ Serena almost says. As it is her eyes linger on Bernie’s face, so she’s probably as good as said it anyway.

Bernie holds her gaze a moment, a blush rising on her cheeks, then looks down at the menu. Serena’s gaze drops too, this time lingering on Bernie’s fingers.

_Snap out of it,_ she thinks firmly, heat coiling in the pit of her stomach. And then again when Bernie pops a forkful of cheesecake into her mouth, her lips wrapping around the fork, and Serena has to suppress a moan at it, at the thought of kissing her and tasting the sweetness on her tongue.

The theatre might only be just across the road but it’s raining steadily now so they pull on their coats – or rather, Bernie pulls on hers and then rushes around the table to hold Serena’s out for her to slip her arms into. Serena holds her breath as Bernie smooths the wool across her shoulders, her hands lingering just longer than necessary.

_I could kiss her,_ she thinks. _I could turn in her arms and just kiss her._

But she doesn’t.

*

They settle into their seats – right in the middle of the front row, right in front of the stools and music stands on the stage. Serena fidgets nervously with her necklace – nothing to do with Bernie now, but all to do with Morven.

She needn’t have worried. The first half goes almost perfectly – a few string squeaks, a couple of dead notes, a stumble each in fast scale runs – but it’s clear the two of them are well suited, and Serena’s heart swells with pride. The second half starts just as well. And then Morven stands to introduce the next piece.

‘There’s someone very special in the audience tonight. I won’t embarrass her by pointing her out, but my very first guitar teacher is here. I remember when I was about ten she sent me home with a pile of CDs to listen to, including _Together_ – the album of duets by John Williams and Julian Bream? Anyway, that was the CD that made me realise I wanted to play in ensembles, so it’s thanks to her that we’re up here at all. This [next piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGsptWdzROE) comes from that album, and I’d like to dedicate it to Serena to say thank you – for everything.’

Serena swallows hard against the sudden lump in her throat, knows Morven can’t see her because of the lights but beams at her nonetheless. When she and Jasmine start playing tears spring to Serena’s eyes and she closes them tightly, lets the music wash over her. It isn’t until the final notes have died away that Serena realises she’d reached for Bernie’s hand, that somehow their fingers have ended up interlocked. That Bernie is soft and not stiff beside her, that Bernie’s thumb is lightly rubbing the side of her little finger. That Bernie is gazing at her, all warm and soft and fond, no trace of apprehension or restraint to be seen in her eyes.

_I’m going to kiss her,_ Serena thinks, when she’s slowly drawn her hand back to enthusiastically applaud, when Bernie has twined their fingers again and squeezed gently, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. And she doesn’t feel scared any more; rather, it feels like an inevitability, like this is where they’ve been heading since they met, like she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to.

They linger in their seats as the rest of the audience files out, eventually drift into the foyer and stand side by side, arms pressed together, the backs of their hands just brushing, until Morven appears from backstage and Serena moves away so she can hug her.

Bernie hangs back and watches as Serena whispers something in Morven’s ear before kissing her cheek, as she pulls Jasmine into a hug too, feels something blossom inside her chest until she can’t help but smile. She’s still smiling when Serena turns around and meets her eye, and all of a sudden Bernie’s struck by just how beautiful Serena is. She doesn’t have time to process it, though, because all three of them are in front of her and Bernie has to tear her eyes from Serena and find her voice to congratulate Morven and Jasmine.

‘You’ll both join us for drinks, won’t you?’ Jasmine asks.

‘Please, Serena,’ Morven adds. ‘I really want to hear your thoughts.’

‘Still value your old teacher then?’ Serena teases, eyes sparkling.

‘Always,’ Morven says earnestly. ‘I wouldn’t be where I am without you.’

‘You always had talent,’ Serena smiles. ‘I just helped you harness it. And I’d love to join you.’

‘Bernie?’ Morven asks hopefully.

Bernie’s torn: she wants to spend more time with Serena – of course she does, she _always_ does – but she feels a little odd, a little loose, isn’t sure she trusts herself right now. And no matter how much Serena might protest, she doesn’t want to intrude. So she feigns a yawn and blinks heavily, excuses herself on the pretence of being tired and brushes off their combined protests and pleas.

‘And besides, one of us needs to not be hungover at work tomorrow morning,’ she adds, earning her a swat on the arm from Serena.

They say goodbye outside, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and their hands lingering until the last moment. Bernie watches Serena walk up the road, sandwiched in between the girls, shakes her head and makes herself turn and walk in the opposite direction.

*          *          *

Serena starts humming Christmas carols the following week, before they’ve even finalised the programme for the vocal showcase immediately after half term. Bernie hears her as she passes one of the cupboards at breaktime, sticks her head around the door and watches as Serena stretches up precariously on her toes and struggles to pull an orange folder from the shelf.

‘Need a hand from someone tall?’ she teases.

Serena’s head whips around, her usual reprimand of, ‘Could you wear louder shoes?’ dying on the tip of her tongue when she wobbles, loses her balance and stumbles. Bernie’s near enough that Serena lands against her chest, her arms automatically coming around her waist to steady her.

Serena feels the breath knocked from her lungs, for a moment can only gaze at Bernie. She’s so close, their noses almost touching. It would be so easy to just–

And then she clears her throat and steps away, instantly starting to fiddle with her necklace, the cupboard suddenly seeming far too small.

‘Please,’ she says softly.

Bernie reaches past her and up to tug the folder free, looks at the label and then screws her face up: _See Amid the Winter’s Snow – Orchestra_. ‘Already?’ she asks mournfully.

‘All the music needs to be ready to start rehearsing as soon as the showcase is out of the way,’ Serena confirms. ‘Oh, don’t you complain,’ she adds, taking the folder from Bernie and adding it to the pile on a chair beside her. ‘I’ve been preparing Christmas music all summer. Nothing like carols in August.’

Bernie steps back and takes in the crammed shelves in front of them. ‘Because there isn’t enough here for you to choose from already?’

‘I like having something new,’ Serena says a little defensively, blushing slightly.

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Bernie soothes. ‘What is it this year?’

‘Cantique de Noel,’ Serena replies. ‘Seeing as you’re here, could you find the last two sets on the list while I start on the choir music?’

‘Of course,’ Bernie smiles. She glances at Serena’s list, moves behind her to hunt through the alphabetically ordered folders for _Hark! The Herald Angels Sing_ and _While Shepherds Watched (Cranbrook)_. ‘Cantique de Noel – that’s O Holy Night, right?’ she checks.

‘The very same,’ Serena smiles, pulling a blue folder from the lower shelf. ‘I’ve almost finished it, just a few final tweaks to go. In fact, I don’t suppose you’d glance over it for me, would you?’

‘I doubt I’ll be able to offer anything enlightening by way of critique, but I’d be happy to.’

‘You around after school?’

Bernie nods, inserts her hand between two folders on the overstuffed shelf and eases _While Shepherds_ out.

‘I’ve got a meeting with Hanssen, the year head and a parent about one of my form,’ she says distastefully. ‘But I’ll open it up for you before I go.’

‘Any excuse to be late,’ Bernie teases, dodging out of the way before Serena can swat at her.

*

Bernie’s halfway through listening to Serena’s arrangement, carefully following the score on screen as it plays, when Raf comes into the office and peers over her shoulder.

‘That doesn’t look like a student composition.’

‘Oh, it isn’t,’ Bernie replies, pausing the playback and slipping off her headphones. ‘It’s Serena’s new arrangement for the carol concert. She asked me to take a look.’

‘Really?’ Raf frowns.

Bernie looks up at him, eyes narrowed and head on one side.

‘It’s just Serena never shows anyone her work in progress,’ he explains. ‘I don’t usually get to see it until the kids do.’

‘Oh,’ Bernie breathes, her brow creasing.

Raf grabs something from his tray and heads back into the classroom, leaving Bernie staring at the notes on the screen. Had she perhaps misunderstood Serena? But no, she’d caught Bernie on her way to Hanssen’s office, told her to make a note of any comments and not to wait around for her if the meeting ran longer than expected.

She presses play again but finds it impossible to focus on the score, instead closes her eyes and just listens; the computer sounds don’t do it justice, but Bernie feels a thrill of excitement at the thought of how it’s going to sound with real instruments and a full choir.

Bernie waits after she’s finished listening, lingers over lesson plans for the rest of the week and preparing cover for the first week back when they’ll all be in rehearsals, but eventually runs out of excuses to stay and knows Serena will only scold her if she’s sat here waiting this late. And besides, she doesn’t quite know what to make of what Raf told her, of what Serena sharing her unfinished work with her might mean. So instead she leaves a note, as Serena told her to, right in the middle of the desk where she can’t fail to spot it: ‘Gorgeous. But I can’t help thinking that harp part would sound better on guitar… Bernie.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Together' is a fantastic album. I imagine Morven and Jasmine one day recording and releasing their own version of it.


	9. Term Two (November-December)

The week doesn’t start well for Bernie. Well, the first day back is fine; she manages not to either turn into a babbling idiot in front of Serena or kiss her, during her free manages to gather everything they need for the concert ready for setting up the hall the following day and is rewarded with a bright smile from Serena (and manages not to kiss her again – although she’s no longer sure what Serena wants, so maybe this isn’t a good thing after all).

Tuesday, though? No, Tuesday is not a good day, not by any stretch of the imagination. Before half term Bernie offered to rehearse some of the smaller vocal groups so Serena could oversee things in the hall and get everything set up just how she wanted it. They’re in the office after morning registration, just about to part ways, and Bernie digs around in her handbag for her phone to put it on silent. As she touches it, it rings, and she’s so surprised she almost drops it.

‘Hello? What? Slow down, what’s happened?’

Serena is halfway out of the door about to head over to the hall, but the note of panic in Bernie’s voice makes her stop.

‘Ok, um, I’m at work, I, uh, can you–’ Bernie stutters, her eyes wide and her face suddenly pale.

‘What is it?’ Serena asks quietly, reaching to put a hand on her arm.

Bernie takes the phone from her ear and rests it against her chest. ‘It’s my neighbour. He, uh – Ziggy. Ziggy’s been hit by a car.’

‘Go,’ Serena says instantly.

‘I can’t. The concert, the rehearsals. Tim’s going to take him to the vet, I’ll just–’

‘Go,’ Serena repeats.

‘But I promised you, I said I’d–’

‘Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine,’ Serena insists.

Bernie holds her gaze, then tells Tim she’ll get to the vets as soon as she can.

‘I won’t be long,’ she promises as she pulls on her coat.

‘Take as long as you need,’ Serena says firmly. ‘Don’t worry about us. Go on,’ she adds, giving Bernie a gentle shove towards the door.

*

Serena tears her gaze from the group of students clustered on the stage at the sound of the door banging against the wall, sees Bernie march in all stony faced and tense, and feels her own already considerable tension ratchet up a level. She watches from where she’s leaning against the back wall of the hall as Bernie strides towards her, as she gets closer sees that her eyes are blazing with barely restrained anger.

‘I’m going to kill whoever did this,’ Bernie mutters tightly.

Serena glances at her then stares at the stage again, fixes her eyes on Raf’’s back.

‘What happened? Ziggy?’

‘Hit and run,’ Bernie tells her, her voice shaking. ‘Broke his back leg.’

‘Is he going to be alright?’ she asks, and Bernie nods. ‘Good. Well, not good but–’ Serena breaks off, wincing, growls in the back of her throat and runs a hand through her hair. She opens her mouth to shout but Raf gets there first, tells the singers in no uncertain terms to pay attention and come in in the right place, on the right note, and restarts them.

Serena sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, feels Bernie’s gaze on her and tries to offer her a smile. But Bernie searches Serena’s eyes and notes her tension and anxiety, and her face softens.

‘Come on,’ Bernie whispers, slipping one hand around Serena’s elbow and gently tugging her towards the door. She only lets go when they’re outside and she’s certain Serena is going to follow her, ushers her across the playground and into their empty classroom.

‘What have I missed?’ she asks, sitting on the edge of a table.

Serena sinks down beside her and sighs again. ‘It’s just been one of those days, you know? Trivial things, one on top of the other. The stage wasn’t set up quite how I wanted it to, so we had to spend part of the first rehearsal rearranging it. Then one of the girls had a bit of a meltdown, which of course set off the others so that rehearsal was a loss. And then half a dozen of the Year Sevens didn’t turn up when they were supposed to so we had to hang around waiting for them to be sent for, wasting yet more time. Oh, and the lyrics on the PowerPoint were wrong for one of the songs, and regardless of the fact that they’ve been singing it for six weeks and know it inside out apparently they can’t cope without it as a crutch.’

‘I shouldn’t have left,’ Bernie says, filling with guilt.

‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve managed worse,’ Serena says with a half laugh.

‘Yes, but I promised I’d–’

‘It’s not your fault, Bernie,’ Serena says firmly, leaning into her side a little. ‘Now, are you ok to be here? You don’t need to be with Ziggy?’

Bernie shakes her head. ‘Vet said I can pop in this evening and see him once he’s come round after the op. They’ll call if there’s a problem.’

‘Ok,’ Serena murmurs. She takes a deep breath in, feels herself calm a little at the feel of Bernie beside her, the scent of Bernie in her nose, and drops her head to rest on Bernie’s shoulder. ‘I’ll help you kill the bastard, if you like,’ she says after a long moment.

Bernie honks a laugh, then takes Serena’s hand and squeezes.

*

Wednesday’s rehearsals are a definite improvement on Tuesday’s – although Serena isn’t sure whether the music is objectively any better or if everything just feels better because she has Bernie beside her. All the small vocal groups they rehearse in the morning go well – so well, in fact, that they send the kids back to classes early and have an unexpected half lesson for the three of them to spend running through their accompaniments – Raf at the piano, Bernie on cello and Serena on violin.

Bernie insists that Serena get out of the hall for ten minutes, sends her to the office to eat her lunch in peace while she tidies up the stage, sandwich in hand; Serena knows she’s trying to atone for yesterday, wants to tell her that there’s no need but Bernie looks so determined and she’s really not in the mood for an argument. She even stays away for a whole five minutes extra, potters around straightening papers on the desk and checking her emails. It’s worth it for the smile on Bernie’s face when she rejoins her and Raf – although that might also have something to do with the cups of tea and Jaffa cakes she’s brought them.

It’s an unremarkable rehearsal, really. Each of the choirs has their own songs and they run smoothly enough, some with backing tracks, some with piano, some with the three of them playing and only the bare minimum of conducting, something Serena had been hesitant to try but Bernie had been keen, and Raf had been easily persuaded to try something new, so she gave in. And it’s nice, she thinks, to add strings to the usual piano accompaniment without worrying about whether the students will get it right, nice to know that the three of them are capable of holding the music together even with such little rehearsal.

And then they move on to the songs the choirs are singing together – songs they’ve so far only sung separately. The sudden appearance of unfamiliar harmonies puts the kids off, as expected, but with some reinforcement from the piano they soon gain confidence again. Until, that is, they hit the [second to last song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFD02LYcw4k). Like the rest they run it first a capella, Raf leaning against the back wall to check the balance, Serena wandering halfway back once she’s started them off, Bernie sat in the front row with her legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

‘I know it’s a quieter song,’ Serena says when they reach the end. ‘But you still need to sing out.’

‘I couldn’t hear the words,’ Raf chips in. ‘I’ve no idea what you were singing about. And most of the harmonies were lost.’

‘I know you know all the words and all the notes,’ Bernie adds, eyes following Serena as she heads back towards the stage. ‘I’ve heard you. Just needs a bit more confidence, a bit more care over the beginnings and ends of words so they’re not woolly.’

Serena catches Bernie’s eye as she passes, tilts her head towards the piano; Bernie jumps up, stands in front of the instrument with one hand lightly resting on the keys.

‘It’s a love song,’ Serena says, flipping through the score until she finds the page she wants. ‘You’ve found this person who you feel you were made for, and it’s scary and exciting. You need to think about how that would feel, and let it show in your voice. And then sing it right to the back of the room – tell Mr di Lucca the story, all the words and all the emotions. So – can I have a C please, Ms Wolfe?’

Bernie obliges, and Serena starts to sing the bridge. Her voice is rich and clear, every vowel perfectly shaped, every consonant falling into place. And Bernie can’t help it, takes a step towards her and joins in with one of the harmony lines. Serena looks at her, the slightest waver of surprise in her voice before she alters it to blend better with Bernie’s.

Bernie finds she can’t look away, sees everything she’s feeling mirrored on Serena’s face. They sing the chorus with their eyes locked and Bernie can feel the emotion pouring out of Serena, doesn’t know how she’s still singing because her heart suddenly seems to be filling her entire ribcage and there surely isn’t enough space for her lungs, even if there was any air left in the room for her to fill them with.

As they stand, breathless and still gazing at each other, Raf comes to their rescue.

‘Your turn,’ he says brightly to the choir. ‘Last chorus?’

The sound of the kids singing breaks the spell. Bernie shakes her head a little, her fringe falling in front of her eyes, is close enough to hear Serena clear her throat with a nervous little cough. She doesn’t let herself look at Serena again even though that’s all she wants to do, doesn’t know what she might see on her face. Doesn’t know what she _wants_ to see. Instead she sits, wills her fingers to remain steady as she finds her music. She doesn’t need to look to know that beside her Serena is doing the same.

‘Better,’ Raf says. ‘From the beginning, with the accompaniment?’

Serena nods her agreement and picks up her violin, somehow manages not to look at Bernie as she cradles her cello between her legs. She marvels at how she can read the music when her eyes seem hazy, at how she can hear the piano when her blood is rushing in her ears, at how she can think about anything other than Bernie.

As soon as she can, as soon as Raf proclaims that he’s satisfied and Serena agrees, Bernie sets down her cello and escapes outside, sits on the chilly concrete steps leading up to the hall. It’s the middle of last lesson so the school is quiet, just the sound of the kids in the hall behind her and the drifting shouts from a PE lesson on the field. She closes her eyes and makes herself breathe, tries desperately to slow her heart but she can’t think of anything except the look in Serena’s eyes when they sang. After a few minutes she hears the door open, hears footsteps coming closer.

‘Bernie?’ Serena asks quietly. ‘Are you alright?’

Bernie looks up at her and offers a tight smile, but meeting Serena’s eye sets her heart racing again. ‘Fine. Just needed some air.’

Serena nods, comes to sit beside her. She’s close enough that their arms and thighs touch, and Bernie can’t miss Serena’s quiet gasp, barely manages to stifle her own.

‘You should get back inside,’ Bernie says, forcing her voice to remain steady, hands gripping her knees to keep herself from reaching for Serena.

‘Raf’s got everything under control,’ Serena replies with a shake of her head, the sound of the first verse of the final song proving her point.

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Serena cautiously reaches to cover Bernie’s hand with hers. Bernie gasps and looks at her sharply, frowning. Serena just holds her gaze and smiles slightly, her thumb stroking Bernie’s.

‘You felt it too, didn’t you, when we sang?’ she whispers. ‘And– and before?’

Bernie can’t speak, can only nod, her heart feeling like it’s about to burst from her chest.

Serena’s eyes flick down to her lips, then back to her eyes. ‘I wish we were somewhere a little less visible.’

Bernie’s tears her gaze from Serena’s just long enough to look around them, taking in the full classrooms overlooking the courtyard.

‘And not mid-rehearsal for a concert this evening,’ she adds.

‘Do you– Serena, is this–?’ Bernie stammers, ducking her head and staring at their hands.

‘Yes,’ Serena says firmly, wiggling her fingers to fit in between Bernie’s. ‘I mean, if you– that is–’ she adds hesitantly.

‘Yes,’ Bernie replies, looking at her in wonder. ‘I just– I never thought you–’

‘I do,’ Serena smiles brightly, leaning into her side. ‘But I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait. We’ve got a concert to finish preparing after all, Ms Wolfe.’

So they go back inside, separate to walk down opposite sides of the hall, avoid each other’s gazes as they listen to the choir, sit beside each other to play until Raf is satisfied and sits the kids down. Bernie stays seated, lets Raf and Serena give instructions as to the arrangements for this evening, times and places and outfits, automatically loosens her bow and orders her music as the kids stream past her in a whirl of conversation.

They don’t get a moment alone together – Raf is there, of course, and Evie too, and after the bell goes Mikey joins them. Serena sets them both to helping tidy the stage and straighten the audience chairs, until she’s satisfied the hall is ready.

‘Home for a bit of a rest, I think,’ Serena announces.

They all leave together, Bernie irrationally jealous that Evie slips her arm through Serena’s, that she’s deprived of a precious opportunity to be close to her– whatever Serena is to her now, whatever they are together. But in the car park, when Serena has hugged Evie and ruffled Mikey’s hair and Raf is shepherding the two of them towards the car and Bernie has ducked her head to rummage for her keys, Serena reaches for her, takes her hand and squeezes.

‘I’ll see you later,’ she says, her voice low, her eyes bright.

*

Bernie arrives a good half an hour before the kids are due. She’s buzzing, and not just with adrenaline in anticipation of the first concert she’s really had a hand in preparing. Without Ziggy her flat is far too quiet, far too empty; she’d much rather be here, even if Serena isn’t yet.

But Serena is here. Bernie slips in through the dark classroom, sees the corridor light on and feels her heart lurch because who else could it possibly be?

‘Hello you,’ she says softly, not wanting to startle her.

Serena turns and meets her eye, and Bernie’s heart swoops again.

‘You’re early,’ Serena says, a smile creeping across her lips.

‘Couldn’t stay away,’ Bernie admits, taking a cautious step into the office. ‘Serena,’ she says, barely above a whisper, taking another step closer.

Serena edges towards her and reaches out, gasping quietly as she tangles their fingers, as skin slides against skin. Bernie swallows hard, closes her eyes and reminds herself to breathe.

‘Alright?’ Serena murmurs.

Bernie nods and looks at Serena from beneath her fringe, can’t help but look at her lips before meeting her gaze again. And then they hear the classroom door open and Serena offers her a rueful smile then takes a step back, her fingers lingering in Bernie’s until the last possible moment.

*

Serena doesn’t quite know how she gets through the concert. She’s full of nerves and excitement, and only a lifetime of performing stops her hands from shaking. And Bernie is _so close_ , and she can practically feel the matching tension rolling off her. They have to look at each other – can’t not and stay in time – and every time their eyes meet it’s almost too much to bear, takes everything Serena has to keep her hands moving.

It takes everything she has to be polite to proud parents afterwards too; she even finds herself considering feigning illness to escape but resists the temptation. Until at last the hall is almost empty, and no one seems to want to talk to any of them any more, and she breathes a sigh of relief. They head over to the office in silence, just the two of them and their instruments, after saying goodnight to Raf and a bright eyed but yawning Evie.

Serena puts her violin away, turns and rakes her eyes along Bernie’s spine as she closes her cello case. When Bernie looks at her, the breath is pulled from her lungs. ‘Bernie,’ she croaks, hands twisting.

And then suddenly Bernie is across the room, barely an inch between them.

‘Serena,’ she breathes, gaze drifting to her lips and then back up to her eyes.

Serena doesn’t know which of them moves first, but one moment they’re apart and the next they definitely aren’t. All she knows is that Bernie’s lips are softer than she ever imagined, that Bernie’s arms around her make her feel safer than she’s ever been, that Bernie’s hair isn’t as tangled as it looks.

Bernie draws back a little, looks at Serena’s flushed cheeks and well-kissed lips, doesn’t meet her eye until Serena gently tilts her chin.

‘No need to look so worried, darling,’ she murmurs, a wide smile blossoming across her face. And then she kisses her again, their noses nudging, and feels Bernie’s lips curve up against hers.

*

‘Morning,’ Serena says when Bernie walks into the office the next day, pressing her lips together to keep herself from grinning like a fool.

‘Morning,’ Bernie replies. She slips off her coat and hangs it beside Serena’s, turns and steps closer, their gazes locked. ‘Sleep well?’ she asks, voice low.

‘Mm, yes thanks. Very pleasant dreams. You?’

‘Same,’ Bernie smiles, fingertips reaching to just brush Serena’s shoulder. ‘I, uh– I wondered if you’d like to come for dinner. Saturday, if it’s ok with Jason?’

Serena closes her eyes, thinks about the calendar on her fridge instead of the feel of Bernie’s fingers resting on her shoulder. ‘Saturday’s fine,’ she replies. ‘I’d really like that.’ At Bernie’s expression – the brightness of her eyes, the way her smile widens – Serena can’t help but smile too. ‘I want to kiss you so much,’ she murmurs, her fingers lighting on Bernie’s for an instant.

Bernie’s eyes darken and her fingers tighten before she pulls her hand away and jams it into her pocket. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she almost growls.

Serena feels herself flush. Her hand automatically rises to toy with her pendant and Bernie can’t help following the movement, can’t help the way her eyes dip to Serena’s cleavage and trace the edges of her blouse and the length of her neck, the way they linger on Serena’s nimble, fidgeting fingers. When Serena clears her throat Bernie blushes, ducks her head and then nervously meets Serena’s eye. She expects to see censure, instead finds dilated pupils and a spark of amusement.

‘I, uh–’ Bernie croaks. ‘I think I’m going to go and, uh–’ She gestures vaguely over her shoulder, blushes harder when she realises Serena’s gaze is now fixed on her fingers. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you later,’ she finishes helplessly, retreating to the safety of the empty classroom. She leans against the door, head tipping back to knock gently on the wood, sighs shakily and makes herself think about her first class of the day rather than about how much she wants to dash back to the office and kiss Serena senseless.

*

The first thing Serena does when she arrives on Saturday evening is to hand Bernie a bottle of Shiraz. The second thing she does is to brush a kiss to Bernie’s cheek, her hand caressing Bernie’s arm. The third thing she does is to make a fuss of Ziggy. Bernie watches as she perches on the arm of his chair, as she reaches inside the plastic cone to scratch between his ears, as Ziggy pushes his face into her hand and Serena laughs at his insistence.

‘You’ll be back to causing trouble in no time,’ she murmurs, her free hand stroking his back as she looks at his shaved skin and stitches and bandages.

Bernie sniffs but if Serena hears she doesn’t look at her, instead keeps her gaze focused on Ziggy as Bernie swipes at her cheeks and turns her eyes to the ceiling. When things are no longer blurry she finds Serena smiling softly at her, manages a smile in return and disappears into the kitchen to open the wine and finish dinner.

They eat at the kitchen table, eyes catching over plates and wine glasses. Serena makes no mention of _them_ , of what passed between them, of the fact that they kissed, and Bernie’s nerves start to jangle.

 _She regrets it,_ she thinks. _She doesn’t want it, doesn’t want me._

So when they sit on the sofa with their refilled glasses and Serena turns to her, a serious expression on her face, Bernie thinks she knows what’s coming, steels herself for kindly rejection, for the wish to keep from ruining their friendship and working relationship, for the wish to forget it ever happened.

‘So the, uh, the rather large elephant in the room,’ she makes herself say. Better to rip the plaster off all in one go, to get it all out there rather than lingering in this uncertainty any longer.

‘This isn’t a good term for me,’ Serena says carefully. ‘It’s busy and stressful.’

‘I understand,’ Bernie murmurs, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

‘I don’t think you do,’ Serena says, reaching for her hand. The touch startles Bernie and she looks up, searches Serena’s eyes. ‘I’m not saying I don’t want this – us,’ she continues. ‘Far from it. I just– I think we should take things slowly. Goodness knows I find you distracting enough as it is, so what I’ll be like when we–’ She breaks off, her cheeks colouring, and clears her throat. ‘Anyway, I–’

‘I understand,’ Bernie repeats, this time with a smile, turning her hand and slipping her fingers between Serena’s.

‘You– you do?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Jason,’ Serena continues, her brow still knotted. ‘He– well, he struggles with change.’

‘I know,’ Bernie soothes. ‘I know he needs stability, and I know he’s always going to come first.’

‘And you– you don’t mind?’

‘No,’ Bernie says firmly. ‘I like Jason. And even if I didn’t he’s your family and you love him, and I would respect that.’

Serena smiles shakily, eyes glistening with tears, and grips Bernie’s fingers a little tighter. Their gazes locked, Bernie raises their clasped hands and presses her lips to the back of Serena’s; Serena sighs, and Bernie sees her entire frame soften.

‘Maybe I could take you out for dinner sometime, a proper date?’ Bernie suggests. ‘To fit in with Jason, of course.’

‘That would be lovely,’ Serena nods. ‘But I’ll tell you right now, I’m classing this as a date and I’ll be very disappointed if I don’t get a goodnight kiss.’

‘I would hate to disappoint you,’ Bernie smiles. ‘But – only one kiss?’

‘I’d hardly refuse if more were on offer,’ Serena admits, her voice teasing, one eyebrow raised.

‘Well then,’ Bernie breathes. She slips her hand from Serena’s so she can trace up her jawline and around the shell of her ear, delights in how Serena’s eyes flutter closed, how she arches into her touch, in the feel of short hair between her fingers. ‘Okay?’ she murmurs, lips half an inch from Serena’s.

Serena hums, half opens her eyes and smiles. ‘Just kiss me, would you?’

But before Bernie can Serena has taken matters into her own hands, has leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

*          *          *

Serena wasn’t wrong: this term _is_ busy and stressful. There are lessons and reports and parents’ evenings, and rehearsals and planning for a concert bigger than anything Bernie has ever been involved in. It all passes in something of a crazy, chaotic, stressful blur. There are moments that stand out, however, that Bernie knows she’ll remember for a long time to come.

Take the second orchestra rehearsal, for example. It starts off perfectly normally, until Serena announces that they’ll be doing _Cantique de Noel_ next and holds the baton out to Bernie. Bernie doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stares at her, uncomprehending.

By now the kids have lost focus, have started talking among themselves while rummaging for the right music, so Serena steps closer. ‘I took your advice,’ she says. ‘You were right, it works much better on guitar than harp.’

She’s still holding out the baton; Bernie looks at it then meets her eye again. ‘You mean–’ she starts, frowning. ‘You want me to–’

‘Well I can’t,’ Serena smiles. ‘And I need Raf on oboe – that part’s important and not doubled anywhere else. Which only leaves you.’

Bernie gulps. ‘You know I haven’t conducted in years.’

‘I know. You’ll be fine, darling,’ she says, even quieter, her hand just brushing Bernie’s shoulder. ‘I have no doubt you can do this.’

Bernie sets down her cello and rests her bow on it, takes a deep breath before standing and taking the baton from Serena, amazed when she raises her hands for quiet and they aren’t shaking.

 _The only thing to be grateful for,_ she thinks as she beats the time with her hands, the baton discarded on the stand, _is that she didn’t bring her guitar today. Because I can certainly do without that distraction._

‘I can’t believe you did that to me,’ Bernie mutters to Serena at the end of the rehearsal.

‘What? It went fine, didn’t it – just like I knew it would.’

‘Cruel woman.’

‘I just thought it would be better if you didn’t have time to get worked up about it, that’s all,’ Serena replies, her hand on Bernie’s arm. ‘And besides, you’ve got plenty of time between now and the concert to study the score.’

‘Hm,’ Bernie grunts. ‘You’d better not have any other surprises up your sleeve.’

‘Well,’ Serena starts, her eyes glinting.

‘Serena,’ Bernie warns.

‘It’s nothing bad,’ Serena promises quickly. ‘I was just– oh, hang on,’ she breaks off, noticing one of the percussion players trying to get her attention. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

Bernie watches her cross the hall then finishes packing away her cello, slips her music back into the folder and drops it into the box.

‘You were saying?’ she says when Serena comes back.

‘What?’ Serena frowns. ‘Oh, yes. I wondered if you’d like to go and look around the Christmas market together sometime? I know it’s stupidly early in the season, but somehow I think we’ll struggle to fit it in much later than this.’

‘You just want the mulled wine, don’t you?’ Bernie teases, relieved.

‘You know me so well,’ Serena smiles, but there’s still a trace of worry in her eyes, like she isn’t entirely sure Bernie will say yes.

‘I’d love to,’ Bernie smiles, her hand lingering on Serena’s under the pretence of taking the folder of scores from her to place in the box with the rest of the music.

From the back of the hall, Raf and Fletch watch the exchange.

‘It’s not just me, is it?’ Raf asks quietly. ‘Something’s changed between them.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Fletch replies. ‘About time too, if you ask me.’

*

Bernie had hoped for a cold, crisp evening – she isn’t naïve enough to expect snow in mid November this far south, however perfectly romantic that would be. Instead they end up with cold, yes, but damp air and sporadic rain. She isn’t about to complain, though, because as they walk from the car park Serena slips her arm through Bernie’s and presses against her, and only moves away to get them steaming mugs of mulled wine.

‘That’s better,’ she hums appreciatively, her elbow nudging Bernie’s, both gloved hands wrapped around her mug.

Bernie smiles, hesitates for a moment and then rests her free hand in the crook of Serena’s elbow, not quite brave enough to wrap an arm around her waist but wanting to be closer. Serena turns to her, her smile widening, and Bernie feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the wine spreading through her body.

They wander like that, Bernie secretly relishing each time the crowd she’d usually hate forces them to squash together; she only wishes that it wasn’t so cold, that they weren’t both wrapped in thick coats, so she could properly feel Serena’s body pressed against hers.

‘Oh, look at this,’ Serena exclaims, tugging Bernie towards a stall selling silver and amber jewellery.

Bernie laughs and lets Serena pull her closer, leans over her shoulder as she studies necklaces and earrings and rings; even through her layers she feels the way Serena presses back against her, cautiously slides her hand around to rest on Serena’s waist.

‘What do you think?’ Serena asks, holding up a ring set with a large piece of pale amber.

‘For you, or for Ellie?’

‘Ellie, darling. This is hardly practical for playing any instrument.’

‘True,’ Bernie smiles. ‘Besides, I think the deeper shades would suit you better.’

She watches carefully as Serena’s fingers dance across the table, notes the pieces she lingers on, the shapes and styles she prefers, a plan already forming in her mind to come back and choose the perfect gift for her.

When they start to wander again, browsing the stalls for gifts for the rest of their children, Bernie leaves her hand where it is, her arm snug across Serena’s back, her fingers just sneaking into the very top of Serena’s coat pocket.

*          *          *

Bernie spends her Sunday afternoon studying Serena’s score for _Cantique_ , listening to the computer software playing it note-perfect, looking up recordings of various arrangements online. And then she moves her furniture around to represent the sections of the orchestra, barks a laugh when Ziggy curls up in what would be Serena’s chair.

‘I feel like an idiot,’ she grumbles to the cat, raising the height of her music stand and gazing around the empty room, her imagination peopling it with musicians and instruments. She takes a deep breath, reaches behind her to press play on the computer and begins to conduct. Eventually she makes it all the way through the piece without missing a major entry or dynamic instruction, feels like she’s finally got a real sense of the music and what she wants to do with it, how she wants to interpret Serena’s score, how she’s going to try and communicate that to the orchestra.

She flops down into the string section and runs a hand through her hair, decides a takeaway would be an appropriate reward for her hard work. She’s just trying to decide if she’s in the mood for Chinese or Indian when her phone rings.

‘How’s your Sunday been?’ Serena asks without preamble.

‘Spent it conducting my cat and an imaginary orchestra. You?’

Serena laughs, a joyous sound that makes Bernie smile; she doesn’t think she’s ever smiled as much as she has since she met Serena, doesn’t think anyone’s ever made her smile as much or as widely or as freely as Serena does.

‘I’m just about to go and pick Jason up from Alan’s. He’s got a new box set – something historical. Don’t ask me what, I’m afraid I zoned out half way through his description – and he asked if you’d like to come over and watch it?’

‘Love to. Will there be food?’ Bernie asks, aware that her stomach is minutes away from rumbling.

‘Jason’s already eaten but I haven’t.’

‘Chinese or Indian? I’ll pick something up on my way, if you like.’

‘You certainly know how to show a girl a good time,’ Serena teases. ‘Whatever you fancy, darling. You know what I like.’

‘I do,’ Bernie murmurs suggestively.

‘Hush you,’ Serena replies a little unsteadily, and Bernie imagines the flush creeping across her cheeks. ‘Right, I’d better go. Don’t want to keep Jason waiting or we’ll be in for a less than pleasant evening.’

‘I’ll see you soon,’ Bernie says and listens as Serena hangs up, grateful their phone conversations haven’t devolved into protracted farewells.

She arrives outside Serena’s a few minutes before Serena and Jason get back, sits in her car with the bag of food warming her lap and jumps out as soon as Serena pulls into the driveway.

‘Hello Bernie,’ Jason says, smiling.

‘Hi,’ Bernie replies. ‘I hear you’ve got a new box set.’

‘I have. But Auntie Serena says I have to let you eat before I put it on.’

He pulls his key from his pocket and goes on ahead to open the door while Serena sidles over to Bernie.

‘I come bearing dinner,’ Bernie smiles.

‘Excellent, I’m starving.’

‘And there I was thinking you wanted to see me,’ Bernie teases, feigning hurt.

‘Incorrigible,’ Serena scolds, immediately stretching up on her toes to kiss Bernie soundly. ‘Better?’ she asks softly.

‘Much,’ Bernie replies.

‘Are you coming in?’ Jason calls. ‘Neither of you move very fast, do you? Your food will be getting cold.’

Serena rolls her eyes fondly, slips her arm through Bernie’s and leads her inside, pausing only once to kiss her before taking the bag from her unresisting hands and sashaying into the kitchen. Bernie stares after her for a moment, then shakes her head and takes off her coat, hangs it up and follows.

‘I think Jason might like you almost as much as I do,’ Serena murmurs when Bernie rushes into the staff room and sinks into her usual chair just in time for staff briefing on Monday morning. ‘Can’t stop talking about you, it’s all _Bernie this_ and _Bernie that._ ’

‘Well I’m very fond of him too,’ Bernie smiles. ‘Although not as fond as I am of you,’ she adds, fingers lingering on Serena’s as she passes her the morning notices.

‘Glad to hear it,’ Serena says, her eyes sparkling. ‘Ready for another week, Ms Wolfe?’

‘Bring it on, Campbell.’

*          *          *

Bernie’s practice pays off. This week’s rehearsal is far less terrifying; she isn’t sure she’ll ever feel truly at home conducting, knows she’ll never inhabit the role as completely as Serena does, but she thinks that one day she might actually enjoy it. She practices again over the weekend, snatches time between taking Ziggy to the vets for a check-up and lunch with Cameron on Saturday, and Sunday afternoon wandering a local National Trust property hand in hand with Serena.

Serena wonders aloud if maybe she’s overdoing it, if maybe there’s such a thing as being too prepared, but come Wednesday Bernie’s glad of it because she now knows the score practically inside out, almost as well as Serena does herself, and when Serena comes in in the morning with guitar case in hand Bernie knows she’s going to need all the help she can get to make it through.

 _At least her part’s nonstop,_ Bernie thinks as she waits for Serena to tune, allows herself this brief moment to watch her: fingers light on the strings, ear pressed to the top of the guitar’s body, eyes closed as she listens carefully. _At least I don’t have to keep looking at her to bring her in. At least I know she’ll stay in time, won’t really need any help from me._

Serena looks at her, nods and smiles, and Bernie raises her hands, waits for the room to fall silent and then begins. She can barely hear Serena over the rest of the orchestra – Serena had insisted it wasn’t worth setting up a microphone just for one piece, said she just wanted to get a feel for it – but every time her gaze passes over her she can see that she’s playing, that she’s keeping Bernie in her sight at all times.

‘How do you manage it?’ Bernie asks as they’re walking back to the office together, Bernie with her cello over her shoulder and the box of music in her arms.

‘Manage what?’ Serena asks, frowning, opening the door for her.

‘Conducting with – well, with me right there?’

Serena laughs. ‘Having trouble concentrating, were we?’ she teases.

‘Maybe,’ Bernie mutters, blushing.

‘No magic solution, I’m afraid, just sheer force of will.’ She looks at the clock, reaches to grasp Bernie’s elbow. ‘Fancy a drink? And maybe dinner?’

‘Jason?’

‘Going to the cinema with his girlfriend after work,’ Serena says proudly. ‘He’ll be back by nine though.’

‘Then I’d be delighted,’ Bernie smiles, offering her arm. ‘What’s on the menu?’

The look Serena gives her very clearly says what she’d _like_ to be on the menu, and Bernie barely suppresses a moan and a shiver at it: at Serena’s desire, at the thought of what she might want to do, at the thought of what she wants to do with Serena.

‘Serena,’ she warns, her voice almost a croak.

‘I’ll behave, I promise. Well, mostly,’ she adds, her eyes glinting, and Bernie gulps.

*

‘So when did you know?’ Serena asks as they move around the kitchen together almost seamlessly.

‘Know what?’ Bernie frowns, focusing fiercely on chopping vegetables even though she can see Serena out of the corner of her eye, even though she can practically feel Serena’s warmth beside her.

‘That you like women?’

Bernie starts and the knife slips, barely missing the tip of her finger.

‘Alright?’ Serena asks, brow creasing in concern, leaning closer and gently taking Bernie’s hand in hers, examining her finger closely.

Bernie nods, suddenly unable to speak because Serena’s fingers are caressing hers and it’s sending sparks along her nerves.

‘No more questions while you’re holding a sharp implement,’ Serena promises. ‘These hands are far too valuable to take the risk.’ And then she suddenly realises she’s still stroking Bernie’s hand, clears her throat and moves away a little; too busy studying the pile of sliced mushrooms on her chopping board as she tries to get her breathing back under control, Bernie doesn’t notice the blush heating her cheeks.

‘I was at a conference,’ Bernie says quietly, carefully resuming her chopping and decidedly not looking at Serena. ‘And this woman just kissed me in the bar after dinner.’

‘No warning?’ Serena asks, incredulous.

‘I realised belatedly that she’d been flirting with me all day,’ Bernie replies, blushing, and Serena chuckles fondly, reaching to pat her hip. ‘I– well, I’d had several whiskeys too many, which is no excuse I know, but I went back to her room with her. And then woke up with a hangover and a crushing sense of guilt at having cheated on Marcus.’

‘You were still married?’

Bernie nods, thinks of Edward and suddenly realises that this seems like a betrayal of Serena’s confidence, like something Bernie should have told her months ago; not that she’s been keeping it a secret on purpose, but what if Serena thinks she has?

‘Can’t have been easy,’ Serena says.

Bernie chances a look at her, finds her face is still soft and her eyes are filled with kindness rather than judgement.

‘It wasn’t,’ Bernie admits. ‘My whole life suddenly made sense but I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t want to hurt Marcus or the kids so I just carried on, but it kept eating away at me. Charlie was sitting her A Levels and I was desperate not to ruin things for her but I just– I couldn’t do it any more,’ she finishes, gaze dropping to the countertop, her hands freezing. She jumps when Serena’s hand slides across her back, hand coming to rest on her hip.

‘You’re nothing like Edward,’ she says softly, and Bernie almost sobs with relief.

‘I once kissed a woman,’ Serena says quietly, resting her cheek against Bernie’s shoulder. ‘At a guitar ensemble workshop in Stepney when I was just out of university. I spent a lot of time over the week sat next to her, playing with her, getting to know her. On the last night I smuggled a bottle of wine from dinner and we stayed up talking in my room, and somehow we ended up kissing. Had my hand up her top before either of us really realised what was happening.’

‘And then what?’

‘She bolted, in the morning acted like nothing had happened.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Bernie says, covering Serena’s hand with hers. ‘I, well, I suppose it was a shock for her,’ she reasons.

Serena snorts. ‘It was a shock for both of us,’ she retorts.

‘You– you never said,’ Bernie says quietly.

‘It was all so long ago,’ Serena replies, a trace of apology in her voice. ‘Nothing ever came of it and, well, I hadn’t thought about it in so long – not until you.’

‘It’s okay,’ Bernie soothes, lacing her fingers between Serena’s, thumb rubbing circles around the knuckle of her index finger.

‘You’re not going to bolt, are you?’ Serena asks after a long moment. ‘Because I’m not sure I could bear that.’

Bernie turns so she’s leaning back against the counter, gently tilts Serena’s chin up and meets her eye. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she says seriously. It’s a little scary, making this sort of commitment when she’s become used to flitting from school to school after a term or two, a year at most. But far from becoming restless she’s almost desperate to put down roots at Holby – with Serena.

Serena smiles at her, and Bernie can’t resist kissing her softly before hugging her tight.

After dinner they curl together on the sofa, a CD of guitar music on the stereo because Serena has declared Bernie’s knowledge of the repertoire to be woefully inadequate and in need of improvement.

‘Although it’s nowhere near as bad as your pop music knowledge,’ she teases as she leans into Bernie.

Bernie scowls, but still wraps an arm around Serena’s shoulders and draws her close.

‘I saved all my pocket money to buy this – on vinyl, of course,’ Serena murmurs. ‘My father took me to my first classical concert when I was eight and this was [the concerto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iG3VOMaY_II). It was John Williams and I’d never heard anything like it, never knew a guitar could sound like that. Oh, the Adagio,’ she sighs. ‘Bernie it’s– oh, it’s just the most stunning piece of music. I listened to it over and over – my mother must have been sick of hearing it. And then Dad gave me a guitar for Christmas, and that was that.’

They fall silent as the second movement begins; Bernie has heard it before but she hears it differently now, now that she knows what it means to Serena. She closes her eyes, lets herself get lost in the music and in the feel of Serena against her. She can feel Serena moving her head a little in time, her fingers twitching every now and then, sometimes as if she were conducting and sometimes as if she were playing, her ribcage expanding and contracting each time she takes a deep breath, the tensing and relaxing of her muscles with each climax of the music.

 _If only I could see her face,_ Bernie thinks. _See the emotions as well as feel them in her body_.

Bernie feels a swell of emotion towards the end of the cadenza, climbing with the rising arpeggios followed by pizzicato strings and rasgueado chords, her eyes filling and her heart aching with the strings’ soaring return to the main theme. She feels breathless when it ends, almost bereft, as the quiet harmonics over sustained strings die away to nothing.

The sprightly start of the third movement makes her jump. She blinks until the room comes into focus and finds Serena gazing at her, a soft smile on her face and the corners of her eyes crinkled. Bernie reaches to stroke her cheek, surprised to see that her fingers are trembling.

‘Okay?’ Serena asks quietly, turning her face so she can press a kiss to Bernie’s palm.

Bernie nods and sighs, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I’d never realised just how beautiful it is,’ she whispers. ‘I can see why you love it so much.’

Serena’s smile widens, and she leans so she can brush a lingering kiss to Bernie’s lips before settling against her, her head dropping to rest on Bernie’s shoulder.

‘I’ve had dreams about your hands,’ Serena murmurs a little later, gently caressing Bernie’s fingers like she had in the kitchen.

‘Me too,’ Bernie admits.

‘Dreaming about your own hands? Bit strange,’ Serena teases.

‘Yes, very funny,’ Bernie scowls playfully. ‘I remember the first time I saw these,’ she says, running her thumb over the perfectly polished nails on Serena’s right hand. ‘I knew you flirted with everyone but I thought there was something different about the way you were with me. But then I saw these and–’

‘And you assumed you’d got it all wrong?’ Serena guesses.

‘Thought I was reading too much into things,’ Bernie agrees. ‘Wishful thinking and all that.’

‘I can assure you that you weren’t,’ Serena smiles, lightly running her nails over the back of Bernie’s hand. ‘And I can also assure you,’ she adds, her voice dropping and her eyes darkening, ‘that decades of guitar, piano and violin practice have made my left hand equally as strong and dexterous as my right.’

Bernie gulps and flushes, fails entirely to suppress the shiver running through her body. ‘Oh. Right. Um.’

She’s saved from having to muster a more coherent response – or from fighting to keep herself from pinning Serena to the sofa – by the sound of the front door opening, and Jason calling from the hall that he’s back. She does, however, pin Serena to the wall beside the coat rack as she’s leaving, has to sit in the car in the dark for a minute so she can get the feel of Serena’s body pressed against hers – and Serena’s low moan – far enough from the front of her mind that she trusts herself to drive home safely.

*          *          *

‘I know it’s a bit short notice,’ Bernie says after school on Monday when they’re sat on opposite sides of the classroom, each surrounded by stacks of exercise books, ‘but would you like to go out for dinner on Thursday?’

‘I’d love to,’ Serena says, smiling brightly as their eyes meet.

‘Pick you up at seven?’

‘Sounds perfect.’

They settle back to their marking, keep glancing up at each other and smiling, until eventually Serena huffs and closes her planner with a snap.

‘Can’t get anything done with you here,’ she grumbles.

‘What did I do?’ Bernie asks, bemused, eyebrows knitting in concern.

‘Exist,’ Serena says shortly, eyes sparkling despite her frustration. ‘A gorgeous distraction, that’s what you are.’

Bernie blushes and ducks her head. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbles.

She doesn’t hear Serena get up and walk around the tables until she’s stood behind her, almost jumps out of her skin when Serena’s hands light on her shoulders, her pen jerking a squiggle of green across the page.

‘Sorry,’ Serena murmurs, squeezing gently.

Bernie drops her pen and lifts her hands to touch Serena’s fingers, tips her head back to rest against Serena’ sternum, closes her eyes and sighs.

‘Okay?’ Serena asks.

Bernie hums and nudges her fingers between Serena’s. ‘I’ll go,’ she murmurs eventually. ‘We both need to get all this marked and I don’t have a Jason at home.’

Serena dips her head, feels the stretch in her neck as she presses a kiss to Bernie’s hair. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ she says softly. ‘Why don’t you just go into the other classroom? We could work for an hour and then–’ she drops another kiss to the crown of Bernie’s head, murmurs into her hair– ‘we could… reward ourselves.’

Bernie twists in her chair and meets Serena’s sparkling eyes. ‘I like your plan better,’ she says, a smile pulling at her mouth.

‘Hop to it, then,’ Serena says with a wink, stepping away and going back to her marking – although it doesn’t escape Bernie’s notice that while she may have picked up her pen she doesn’t actually look at the open exercise book in front of her. Not until she’s left the room, at least.

*

It’s Jason who answers the door when Bernie knocks at exactly seven on Thursday. ‘You look very nice,’ he says, letting her in and closing the door behind her.

‘Thank you, Jason,’ Bernie smiles.

‘Auntie Serena is still getting ready. She was late making my tea because she couldn’t decide what to wear. I told her you already like her so it doesn’t matter what she wears, but she insisted that it does. She’s also wearing far too much make up,’ he adds, frowning.

‘Sorry,’ Serena says, breathlessly, rushing down the stairs. ‘What?’ she frowns when they both stare at her. ‘Have I got something in my hair?’

‘That lipstick doesn’t suit you,’ Jason says frankly. ‘Make sure you’re back by eleven, won’t you, Auntie Serena?’

‘I’ll have her back on time,’ Bernie promises when Serena can only stare at him, and he nods and heads into the kitchen. ‘I think you look beautiful,’ she says softly to Serena.

Serena smiles at her, but she’s still frowning as she studies herself in the hall mirror.

‘And I very much like that lipstick on you,’ Bernie adds, walking up behind her and gently touching her waist. ‘Although I’d also very much like to kiss it off you.’

Serena meets her eye in the mirror, and Bernie winks.

‘Not until later, though,’ Bernie promises. ‘You’ve gone to all this effort for me, I want to appreciate it over the table all evening.’

Serena smiles when she realises that Bernie’s taking her back to the Italian they visited before. ‘It felt like a date last time we were here,’ she says as Bernie holds the door open for her.

‘I thought so too,’ Bernie admits, smiling shyly.

‘It really is this time,’ Serena says, her eyes sparkling with promise.

‘Does that mean I can steal a kiss later?’ Bernie teases.

‘No stealing necessary,’ Serena says, flipping open the wine list and pressing her foot against Bernie’s under the table. ‘All kisses will be very willingly bestowed.’

It’s almost indistinguishable from the first time they came here together: the small table, the candle and flower between them, the lingering looks across plates and glasses and cutlery. Only this time they hold hands as they wait for their starters, and again between courses, Serena’s fingers slipping between Bernie’s, her thumb rubbing back and forth along Bernie’s; this time Bernie knows she isn’t imagining the heat in Serena’s gaze when she asks what she fancies for dessert; this time they kiss in Serena’s porch when Bernie drops her home, and don’t have to imagine how dessert tastes on the other’s lips.

This time, Bernie stops to pick up pain au chocolat on her way into work the next morning, feels almost blinded by the force of Serena’s smile when she sees what’s inside the paper bag she passes over, has to fight the urge to kiss her when she moans quietly at the first bite, to kiss away the pastry flakes at the corners of her mouth.

*          *          *

On Saturday afternoon Bernie heads over to Serena’s. Another department tradition, she has been told, is a gathering the Saturday evening before the carol concert, a chance to relax and have some fun together before the chaos of the week. Raf and Fletch and the kids will be joining them later, but Serena asked Bernie if she’d like to come over early.

‘I don’t want to intrude on your family time,’ she had protested.

‘Jason specifically asked,’ Serena said, smiling. And that was that – how could Bernie possibly refuse both of them, when she has no real reason?

Serena opens the door in jeans and a soft wool jumper, face bare and looking more beautiful than Bernie has ever seen her, if that’s even possible.

‘I brought baking,’ Bernie says, holding up two tins and smiling when Serena’s eyes light up. ‘I knew that was the only reason you invited me,’ she teases.

Serena pulls her inside and presses her against the door to kiss her hello, and Bernie gets lost in the softness of her lips, and the softness of her jumper beneath her hands.

They spend the afternoon singing along to cheesy Christmas songs – [The Pogues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9jbdgZidu8) and [Wham](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8gmARGvPlI), [Chris de Burgh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVlM_6M-Xdw) and [Greg Lake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXCEdrnaFlY), [Band Aid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjQzJAKxTrE) and [Wizzard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r89CjMZDQpQ), like Jason used to do with his Mum, he tells Bernie – as they weave lights and tinsel between the branches, as they carefully hang ornaments with Serena telling them both the stories behind each of them, as Jason places the star on top. Each brush of the tree raises the scent of pine; in combination with the sound of sleigh bells and the twinkling lights it makes Bernie feel more Christmassy than she has since Cam and Charlie were little.

They stand back to admire their handiwork, Bernie darting forwards to move a few ornaments around under Serena’s direction, then take a break for tea and one of Bernie’s mince pies each; even Jason tries one when Bernie tells him there’s no candied peel in her mincemeat, declares that he likes them and hopes she’ll make some for him every Christmas. Bernie feels Serena freeze against her, feels her heart swoop and tells him that she would love too; she can’t slip her arm around Serena because both her hands are full, instead leans into her and hopes that’s reassurance enough.

‘He’ll hold you to that, you know,’ Serena say quietly once Jason has disappeared up to his room.

‘I know,’ Bernie replies, smiling. ‘I meant it.’

Serena gazes at her, her eyes sparkling with tears, then presses a kiss to Bernie’s lips and stands up. ‘Not done yet,’ she says, holding out her hands.

‘There’s more to do?’ Bernie groans playfully, letting Serena pull her up.

‘Four kids coming, remember, including two tinies. They’ll be expecting some sort of magical grotto.’

‘Fairy lights all round?’ Bernie guesses.

‘Got it in one,’ Serena says, holding out a box filled with strands of tinsel and lights. ‘Hop to it.’

‘Yes boss,’ Bernie teases, stepping back out of reach before Serena can prod her side.

*

Serena’s still upstairs changing when Fletch knocks on the door, so Bernie lets them in instead; if he’s surprised to see her there already he hides it well, apologises as the kids all push past her, oohing and aahing at the tree and the lights.

‘I remember when mine were this excited about Christmas,’ Bernie smiles.

‘Bet you don’t miss queuing for Santa’s grotto,’ Raf grumbles as he passes her.

‘Oh come on, you love it really,’ Fletch grins.

Raf exchanges a glance with Bernie, grimaces and rolls his eyes then fixes a smile on his face when Fletch turns back to look at him.

‘I always tried to delegate that to Marcus,’ Bernie admits in a stage whisper, ducking the balled-up scarf Fletch chucks at her.

‘Oi, don’t go giving him ideas.’

‘Careful, we need her this week,’ Serena warns from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Just this week?’ Raf teases.

Serena blushes slightly, blushes even more as Bernie’s eyes rake her figure and her misgivings over choosing such a tightly fitting dress vanish. It isn’t until Fletch clears his throat that they remember they have company, and Bernie blushes too.

‘Remember that mistletoe I expressly told you not to bring?’ Raf murmurs as they follow Serena and Bernie out of the hall and towards the sound of excited kids.

‘Don’t worry, I completely ignored you,’ Fletch replies with a grin. ‘I know, I know – I’m the best, right?’ he adds cockily, earning himself a swat to his shoulder.

In the kitchen, unseen for the moment as Serena tends to the mulled wine and spiced apple juice warming on the hob, Bernie sneaks close and runs her hands up and down Serena’s sides.

‘This dress,’ she murmurs against the soft skin of Serena’s neck, brushing a kiss to her leaping pulse, ‘is sinful.’

‘You like?’ Serena asks, arching back into her.

‘Mm,’ Bernie replies, the vibration making Serena shiver.

Neither of them notice when Raf sticks his head around the door. When he sees them – Serena’s head tipped back to rest on Bernie’s shoulder, Bernie’s arms around her waist, Bernie’s lips trailing kisses along Serena’s neck – he smiles, steals away and lingers in the door to the living room, listening carefully above the hubbub of the kids.

‘Now,’ he hisses, gesturing wildly to Fletch as he hears the clink of china.

‘Eager, aren’t we?’ Fletch teases, willingly allowing Raf to draw him into his arms and kiss him thoroughly, to a chorus of groans and protests from the kids.

They only draw apart at the sound of Serena clearing her throat.

‘Sorry,’ Fletch grins, pointing above their heads. ‘Had no choice.’

They move into the room, but Serena doesn’t follow and Bernie almost bumps into her.

‘Alright?’ she frowns, and follows Serena’s gaze upwards. ‘Oh,’ she smiles.

Serena turns, searches Bernie’s eyes and then leans carefully over the tray of steaming mugs she’s carrying and kisses her softly.

‘Ugh, not you two as well?’ Mikey complains loudly.

‘I think it’s sweet,’ Evie declares.

‘I think it’s about bloody time,’ Raf adds.

They spend the evening listening to more cheesy Christmas songs, Bernie helping the kids to decorate the gingerbread tree decorations she made (under strict orders from Serena to tidy the sticky mess they’re bound to leave all over her kitchen), stuff themselves with party food and then sit and talk comfortably, Evie and Jason deep in conversation about Doctor Who, Serena nestling into Bernie’s side after Bernie placed a cautious arm across her shoulders.

‘I’m happy for you,’ Raf says as they leave, Fletch busy getting Theo and Ella into the car, Bernie already hard at work scrubbing congealed icing and a scattering of edible glitter from the kitchen table. ‘We both are.’

‘Thank you,’ Serena smiles, hugging him. ‘Get some rest tomorrow. Busy week ahead.’

‘Will do, boss,’ Raf smiles.

Serena waves them off, watches until they’re out of sight and then goes in search of Bernie, finds her on her hands and knees sweeping yet more glitter and tiny sugar snowflakes from the tiles.

‘Fall on your knees,’ Serena sings softly, and Bernie almost hits her head on the edge of the table when she starts in surprise. ‘No need to worship me,’ she teases as Bernie shuffles backwards and kneels at her feet, gazing up at her. Serena gently brushes her fringe from in front of her eyes and Bernie presses her cheek into Serena’s palm, her hand caressing Serena’s bare ankle, fingers trailing lightly up her calf.

‘I can think of plenty of worshipping I could do from here,’ she murmurs, her eyes dark and hot.

‘Bernie,’ Serena warns, her voice wavering. But she doesn’t move away when Bernie turns her face so she can kiss Serena’s palm, when Bernie’s hand slowly sneaks higher, under the hem of her dress to tickle at the back of her knee. It isn’t until Bernie’s fingers edge still higher that Serena finally steps back, the breath leaving her lungs in an unsteady whoosh.

‘Sorry,’ Bernie whispers, hand dropping to rest on her thigh.

‘Soon,’ Serena promises. ‘We’re almost there. Bloody good thing too,’ she adds, gently stroking Bernie’s cheek. ‘My self-restraint’s almost shot to pieces.’

‘Mine too,’ Bernie admits, reaching for the dustpan and brush to finish tidying.

‘You– you’ll come over, won’t you? For the weekend?’

‘Jason?’ Bernie asks.

‘Staying with Alan all week. He won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.’

‘Then yes,’ Bernie says. ‘I mean, I would even if he was here but – well I, uh, that is,’ she stammers, blushing.

‘I know, darling,’ Serena soothes. And then, her eyes sparkling: ‘I don’t trust myself to be quiet either.’

She pretends not to hear Bernie’s groan, forces herself to walk away and gather plates and mugs from the other room while Bernie carries on in the kitchen. But on the way to the front door later she pulls Bernie under the mistletoe and kisses her again, far less chastely than she did in front of the others, soon finds herself pressed against the doorframe, the wood digging uncomfortably into her back.

‘I have to go,’ Bernie pants eventually, forcibly extricating herself from Serena’s arms, her eyes wide and frantic but with desire rather than panic.

Serena watches as Bernie pulls on her coat, fumbling with the buttons, would take pity and help but doesn’t trust herself either to move without her legs giving way or to touch Bernie without dragging her up to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serena's story isn't mine, but the Adagio from the Concierto de Aranjuez is my favourite piece of music and it was a delight to have an excuse to listen to it several times in quick succession! If you only listen to one of the pieces I've mentioned/linked to, please make it this one.


	10. Carol Concert

The week of the concert starts just like any other week. Bernie can feel a buzz in the department all morning though, despite the fact that they’re teaching a normal timetable. Maybe it’s because they all know what’s coming, because they all know that while they’re teaching there’s a team of people who, unseen, are setting the hall up to Serena’s specifications – staging blocks and chairs and the like – as they do for every concert. Only this time they’re setting up in the main hall, not the smaller one they’ve used for all the concerts Bernie’s been involved in so far.

After lunch Serena sends Raf and the GCSE group to fetch the percussion and music stands they need and the two of them head over to the hall together, each with a box of music in their arms; they won’t be rehearsing until tomorrow but are using this lesson to finish preparing the hall, getting as much as they can in place to keep mid-rehearsal rushing between the hall and the department to a minimum.

As soon as Serena’s put her box down on a table at the back of the room she bustles off, but Bernie gazes around her – at the stage filled with chairs and benches, at the space for the orchestra, at the Nativity scene collages hanging on the wall and the 3D paper stars suspended from the ceiling – and then slowly walks across the hall and sinks into one of the few plastic chairs already in place for the audience.

‘Alright?’ Serena asks quietly, sitting beside her, the chairs so close they’re touching from shoulder to knee.

‘It’s huge,’ Bernie murmurs, eyes wide.

Serena looks at her and realises that despite all the preparations she’s been involved in, despite having seen just how many copies of the music there are and how many names are on the programme, the sheer scale of this concert somehow hadn’t struck Bernie until now.

‘Yes it is,’ she smiles. ‘Just you wait until we’ve got everyone in here.’

Bernie turns to look at her, a hint of terror on her face.

‘You’ll be fine, darling,’ Serena says, squeezing Bernie’s knee. ‘You’ve got this. _We’ve_ got this.’

And then the first of the Year Tens arrive in a clatter and a jingle. Serena rolls her eyes and strides towards them calling out a stream of orders; Bernie shakes her head and jumps up too, sets about making herself useful to stop herself dwelling on it.

*          *          *

By Tuesday afternoon the last remnants of Serena’s festive cheer have ebbed away.

‘I just want it to be over,’ she grumbles, sinking into a chair in the office and pinching the bridge of her nose. The orchestra rehearsal has left her with an insidious headache that has all the hallmarks of turning into something both splitting and long-lasting and she closes her eyes, forces herself to breathe slowly and not think about how dire it was, how the concert could be a complete disaster if something doesn’t change drastically in the next forty-eight hours.

‘No you don’t,’ Bernie says softly, closing the door behind her and resting her hands on Serena’s shoulders.

‘Is it just me, or have they got worse since last week?’

‘They’re just easily distracted,’ Bernie soothes, gently pressing her thumbs into tight, sore muscles. ‘A different room, all the decorations – and the end of term on top.’

‘You’re right, you’re right,’ Serena sighs.

‘And hopefully they’ve got it all out of their systems now so they’ll be more focused tomorrow.’

‘When we’ll have to go through exactly the same with every student in the choirs – even the older ones, who should know better.’

‘I’m, uh, I’m sorry I messed _Cantique_ up,’ Bernie says quietly. ‘Think I might have been a little overawed too.’

Serena reaches to pat her hand, turns to smile wearily up at her. ‘You were fine, darling.’

‘It’s just they aren’t all sitting in their usual places and–’

‘You were fine,’ Serena repeats firmly, cutting off Bernie’s rambling and pressing a kiss to her fingers. ‘I’m just tired,’ she sighs. ‘And fed up with them not paying attention and being entirely incapable of shutting up when I’m talking to them.’

‘Sounds like you need a big glass of wine, some mindless telly and an early night.’

‘Ha, if only. I’ve got to finish marking those and get them entered on the system,’ she says, pointing to a stack of papers on the desk. ‘I don’t know who decided this was a good week for an assessment point but if I ever find out,’ she adds darkly.

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘No, but thank you,’ Serena smiles. ‘It won’t take me long. And Raf and Fletch have got Ella’s nativity, so I think you’re the only one of us who stands a decent chance of being relaxed and rested for tomorrow.’

‘Okay,’ Bernie smiles softly. ‘Why don’t you at least take five minutes to close your eyes and breathe, and I’ll go and make you a cup of tea, hm?’

Serena nods, so Bernie gives her shoulders one last squeeze and slips away, comes back a few minutes later with a steaming mug and a slice of chocolate cake.

‘Where did you manage to scrounge that up from?’ Serena asks, one eyebrow raised. ‘Or do I not want to know?’

‘Bumped into Lou. Apparently we missed cake while we were busy this morning – she pointed me in the direction of the leftovers.’

‘That woman is an angel,’ Serena smiles. ‘Mind, so are you.’

‘Definitely not an angel,’ Bernie says, her voice dropping just enough to make Serena shiver. ‘I’ll leave you to it, before I distract you any more,’ Bernie smiles.

But Serena reaches for her hand, tugs her closer and tilts her head up with a hopeful expression.

Bernie shakes her head fondly, leans down to softly kiss her and feels that some of the tension has left her body. ‘Don’t stay too late, will you?’

‘I won’t,’ Serena promises, ghosting her lips across Bernie’s one more time before she straightens up and moves away to pull on her coat.

*

Serena gets out of her car on Wednesday morning, turns to walk across the car park and stops in her tracks when she sees Bernie pull into the space across from her. Frowning she glances at her watch but no, she’s no later than she usually is – which means Bernie must be early, by her standards anyway. She watches as Bernie climbs out of her ridiculously low car, dragging her handbag out after her and yawning.

‘Bit early for you, isn’t it?’ Serena asks as they fall into stride.

‘I wanted to be here, for if you needed anything,’ Bernie admits, ducking her head and blushing.

Serena feels her heart swell, can’t keep a smile from blossoming across her face and reaches so the backs of their hands brush. Bernie bravely curls her little finger around Serena’s, is relieved when Serena doesn’t pull away but mirrors the movement.

Bernie only lets go to walk ahead of Serena to open the door for her. The department is dark, but when Bernie goes to flick on the light in the corridor Serena stops her, presses her against the wall by the light switch and kisses her, a tender kiss that leaves Bernie leaning there, stunned, as Serena walks towards the office. After a moment she follows, blinks against the harshness when the light flickers on, blinks again at the brightness of Serena’s smile, at the satisfied smirk when Serena sees her expression.

Serena takes off her coat and when she moves to hang it Bernie moves closer, so there’s only a whisper of air between them, slips one hand to rest on Serena’s hip. Serena turns slowly, Bernie’s hand sliding across the small of her back, their eyes meeting, their noses almost touching.

‘Feeling better today, hm?’ Bernie teases gently.

Serena just keeps smiling, and the only thing Bernie can possibly do is kiss her. Only briefly, only chastely – they are at work and visible to anyone who happens to be passing, after all. And then she steps away, her fingers lingering on Serena as long as possible, senses Serena move away across the room as she shrugs off her coat and hangs it, the pale pink a gentle blush beside the rich red of Serena’s.

They both carry it with them all day, this tender start to the morning, a soft glow lighting them from within through all the hours of rehearsals. It calms Serena each time her frustration builds: the knowledge that Bernie is right beside her, that Bernie came in early for her. If Bernie were a man she’s certain this would have rankled, the implication that she might not have been able to cope on her own, but she knows that isn’t how Bernie meant it, knows the thought wouldn’t even have crossed Bernie’s mind; instead she finds it reassuring and thoughtful, and all the things she’s come to associate with Bernie.

It soothes Bernie too, especially when she knows that _Cantique_ is approaching and her insides start to twist at the prospect of having to hold together the orchestra and three choirs all on her own, having to keep them all in time and drag them through their unerring tendency to slow down. Serena is sparkling again today, full of energy and smiles for everyone around her. But each time their eyes meet there’s a smile just for her that takes Bernie back to the quiet office, to the memory of Serena’s lips against hers.

Wrangling several hundred students turns out to be not quite as difficult as Bernie imagined, although only because her mind had painted it as a nightmare. She’s grateful that they’ve already rehearsed several carols, that the novelty of the room and combining singers with live instruments has worn off but the boredom and tiredness of a long rehearsal hasn’t yet set in, grateful to Serena for thinking to position _Cantique_ here, for shouldering the burden of the first and last carols herself. Even with this she still has to restart twice, feels the struggle of maintaining control with every bar, feels her respect and admiration for Serena grow even more at how difficult it is and how effortless – even enjoyable – Serena makes it look.

Serena sends the kids home with a raft of reminders about tomorrow night’s concert: what they need to wear, when they need to arrive, where they need to go. And then, amid the chaos of them all leaving, barreling out into the dark, damp evening in noisy clusters, she beckons Bernie and Raf to her with a glance and they hold a brief conference. They decide on a couple of items that need one last rehearsal tomorrow, straighten chairs and tidy stray sheets of music before heading out.

In the mostly dark car park Serena draws Bernie to her, presses her gently against her car and, to Bernie’s surprise, kisses her. ‘Night, darling,’ she murmurs. ‘See you in the morning.’

‘Goodnight,’ Bernie says softly, watching Serena walk to her own car before she gets in.

*

Thursday – the day of the concert – is an odd day. All the major rehearsals are over now and Bernie feels a little unsettled by the lack of preparation to be done today, by the fact that she actually has to teach while one of the English teachers works with the readers, while Serena takes the group of Year Eleven singers off for one last run of their song, while Raf irons out the last niggles with the first flute and first clarinet.

She’s free last lesson, though, sneaks into the hall and looks through the score for _Cantique_ , glances around to make sure that she’s alone and raises her hands, hears the music in her mind as she conducts it one more time in the space to reassure herself that she knows exactly where she needs to look to give each cue, remembers the spots that caused trouble yesterday and makes sure she knows what to do to stop it happening tonight, when it really matters.

Serena is free last lesson too; she isn’t usually, but Henrik understands at least something about the demands and stresses of putting the carol concert together and always timetables plenty of cover for her – more than she really needs, probably, but Serena isn’t about to complain. She goes over to the hall in search of her keys but walks in to see Bernie conducting, eases the door closed and just stands watching, admiring the elegant motions of her hands, the way the light catches in her hair, wishes she was in front of her rather than behind so she could see the furrow of concentration on her brow and the animation of her expressions.

‘Looking good, Ms Wolfe,’ she says approvingly when Bernie lowers her hands.

Bernie whips around, hair flying around her face. ‘Didn’t realise anyone else was here,’ she mutters, blushing.

‘I was looking for my keys,’ Serena explains, walking towards her. ‘But I found something far better,’ she adds, smiling. ‘Would you like to run it together, just the two of us?’

‘You– you don’t think it’s silly?’

‘Not at all,’ Serena reassures her, close enough now that she can lay a hand on Bernie’s arm. ‘If only everyone prepared as diligently as you.’

‘Well then that would be nice,’ Bernie smiles shyly.

She watches from beneath her fringe as Serena picks up her guitar and tunes, allows herself the briefest moment to imagine Serena’s fingers elsewhere and feels her cheeks heat with the realisation that she doesn’t have long to wait now. Her cheeks pink even more when Serena looks up and meets her eye, smirking a little.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Ms Wolfe,’ she says, her voice rich with suggestion.

Bernie bites back a teasing retort and instead raises her hands, forces herself to hear the rest of the music over Serena’s part and to pay attention to it, to give all the cues and directions she’s worked so hard on when what she really wants to do is just watch and listen to Serena.

Raf comes over just after the bell goes for the end of the day, finds them sitting beside each other with their heads bowed close and their hands just touching. He’s about to silently back out of the hall when a group of kids come up behind him, all noisy and wanting to speak to Ms Campbell, and all he can do to warn them is to push the door open a crack and raise his voice when he asks what they want and if he can help them. He can’t, apparently, so he opens the door wider and steps into the hall ahead of them, sees that they’ve shuffled apart just a little and are no longer touching, their faces rearranged into something a little less soft, a little less fond, a little more professional.

By four o’clock they’re all heading home for a couple of hours. Bernie had been a little concerned she’d have to insist on Serena leaving school, thought she might have to shove her out of the door and bundle her into her car. But Serena is the keenest of the three of them to get out of there, to get back to her quiet, empty house and sprawl in front of undemanding TV before slipping into her concert persona for the night. When Bernie says that she might take a nap Raf looks at them both jealously, sighs that there’s no chance of a rest for him. Serena pats his arm sympathetically, tells him to enjoy the kids’ excitement about Christmas while it lasts, before they all grow up; Bernie, on the other hand, tells him to invest in a pair of noise-cancelling headphones for occasions like this, and when Raf’s eyes light up at the suggestion Serena prods her in her side, a reprimand in her eyes.

There are too many kids still around for them to kiss each other goodbye. Instead they make do with a lingering look and a squeeze of their hands, and it’s enough that when Bernie dozes off on the sofa with Ziggy curled on her feet she has a smile on her face.

When Bernie wakes she’s still smiling, but then the nerves begin to set in and she starts to feel jittery. Despite the churning of her stomach she forces herself to eat something, knows her blood sugar nose-diving mid-concert is something to be avoided. She takes longer than normal getting ready, changes her usual work outfit for suit trousers and a neatly-pressed shirt in deep forest green, shivers a little at the thought of wearing just that but remembers Serena’s warning that the hall will be boiling when it’s full and resists the temptation to pull on a jumper. She takes more care over her make up too, doesn’t trust her hand to remain steady for eyeliner but manages a little shadow and some mascara, a touch of blush on her cheeks.

Bernie looks at herself critically in the mirror, decides to forego her usual chapstick for a swipe of pale pink lipstick. She wouldn’t normally make such an effort but she’s representing Serena – her department, her music, her life’s work – and Serena always looks so lovely, always makes the effort. And Bernie’s going to be far more visible than she’s used to tonight, for one carol at least.

 _And,_ a tiny voice adds, _you want to impress her, want her to look at you with want. Want her to want you._

She pulls on her coat, takes one last look in the mirror and runs her fingers through her hair.

‘That’ll have to do, Ziggy,’ she sighs, bending to scratch the cat between his ears and under his chin, smiling when he pushes his face into her hand.

*          *          *

The carol concert is like nothing Bernie has ever experienced. While Serena and Raf warm up the choirs in the small hall, she and Fletch deal with the orchestra in one of the classrooms, shouting repeated warnings not to play anyone else’s instrument over the kids’ excited chatter. Bernie sits at the piano, hammering out tuning notes, brow creased as she listens carefully and gestures for each kid to sharpen or flatten as necessary, while Fletch oils sticking trumpet valves; she’s just finished with the woodwind and is about to start on the brass when Serena pops in.

‘Alright?’ she asks softly, one hand lighting on Bernie’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

Bernie nods. ‘You?’

Serena nods too, looks around the room to check that no one’s missing. ‘Take them on over whenever you’re ready.’

‘Will do,’ Bernie smiles. ‘See you in there.’

*

It’s all something of a blur. The programme looked so long when they were preparing it – so much music, all those readings – and more than once during rehearsals Bernie thought they must have been far too ambitious, thought there was no way everything would be ready in time, thought the concert would be overlong. But somehow it races by before Bernie has chance to catch her breath. She deliberately doesn’t allow herself to look at the audience, can see them out of the corner of her eye and hear them singing along in the carols for all but doesn’t want to know just how many people she’s going to be standing in front of soon, her back to them as she tries to meet Serena’s expectations and not mess up her beautiful arrangement.

It’s here before she knows it. She slips _See Amid the Winter’s Snow_ to the back of the sheaf of music on her stand and there, glaring at her, is the part for _Cantique de Noel_. For a moment she gapes at it, blinks hard because she doesn’t recognise it, tries not to panic as she wonders how she’s sat in the middle of a concert with a piece of music she’s never seen on the stand in front of her.

And then she remembers. She lays her cello down beside her, takes care resting her bow on top and forces herself to breathe as Serena beckons to her. The fear must show in her eyes because as they pass – Bernie on the way to the conductor’s stand, Serena on the way to her guitar – Serena reaches to just brush her fingers along the back of Bernie’s hand.

As Serena settles herself and lowers her ear to the body of her guitar to tune Bernie opens the score and scans the first few pages, refamiliarising herself with the music. She ignores the baton on the stand, never used one in rehearsals and isn’t about to tempt fate by changing anything now. Out of the corner of her eye she’s aware of Serena raising her head; Bernie looks at her, questioning, receives a nod and a bright smile in return. So she glances around the orchestra, pleased to see all the kids looking at her, raises her hands and waits for everyone in the choirs to pay attention before she gestures for them to stand.

A deep breath, another glance at Serena as she imagines the opening bars and fixes the tempo in her mind. She beats it – down, up, down, up, the usual two bars that they’ve practiced. Serena and the strings come in on the down beat and they’re away, the music carrying her along, each well-rehearsed gesture for entries and dynamics falling into place until somehow, suddenly, they reach the final chord. Bernie brings them off, keeps her hands raised for a moment before relaxing and sitting the choirs back down. She barely registers the applause, barely hears it through the rush of blood in her ears. Besides, all she really cares about is Serena’s reaction – and Serena is already half way towards her, smiling widely. It’s enough to make Bernie grin too as she retakes her seat. She smiles all the way through the small [vocal group item](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4B7pkql_-tc) and the [reading](http://blog.thereader.org.uk/2008/12/22/featured-poem-king-johns-christmas-by-a-a-milne/) that follow, keeps meeting Serena’s eye and feeling herself swell with joy at not having failed Serena, at having made her proud.

*

Serena hasn’t told anyone why she’s put _Do You Hear What I Hear?_ on the programme even though they last included it only two years ago. Bernie wouldn’t know of course, but she wonders at how Raf doesn’t seem to have noticed; maybe she’s the only one who holds that sort of information in her memory, the only one who consults the spreadsheet recording every performance of every carol as they make their selection each year. He’s noticed something unusual now, though: Serena never writes notes for introducing any of the items but she has for this, didn’t quite trust herself so took the precaution. She slips the flash card out from where she’d tucked it safely behind the scores and glances at it, feels Raf’s questioning gaze on her as she takes a deep breath before turning to face the audience.

‘As I’m sure a lot of you are aware, we lost a very dear colleague and friend earlier this year: Arthur Digby. In the four years Arthur was with us he became a vital member of our department, always keen to work with students and willing to give so much of his time and energy to help them.’

She pauses then, has to blink away tears and force another breath before she can continue.

‘We miss him every day. This was his favourite carol, and tonight I’d like to dedicate it to Arthur’s memory.’

When she turns and opens the score Serena notices Raf wipe a tear from his cheek, glances to her right to find Bernie gazing at her steadily and draws strength from her, remembers how Bernie held her after Arthur died and wraps the memory around herself. For the first time in as long as she can remember Serena’s hands shake when she raises them, the tip of the baton wavering. Swiftly she sets it down again, a split second decision that the trembling will be far less noticeable in her fingers than a white stick expressly intended to be visible.

The Year Sevens who sing the opening verse never met Arthur. The rest of the kids did, though, and Serena sees some of the older ones in particular struggling. She smiles at them, tries to exude as much encouragement as she can through her own resurrected grief. By the final verse she’s given up on turning the pages of her score because her eyes are too blurry with tears for there to be any point looking at it. She doesn’t even try to stop them falling, doesn’t wipe them away – can’t while she’s conducting, and doesn’t bother afterwards.

 _Do You Hear What I Hear?_ has never sounded so incredible. For all her love of traditional Christmas carols Serena isn’t certain she believes in god or heaven but as she smiles proudly at the kids, as she turns to see the entire audience on their feet – some of them crying too – she finds herself hoping Arthur is looking down on them, hoping he can see and hear just how much he mattered to so many people.

*

They end with _O Come All Ye Faithful_. It builds and builds: the brass fanfare introduction, each choir and the audience singing a verse in turn, up to the final verse with everyone – every instrument and every voice together, with the descant floating over the top. With one final, soaring crescendo the last chorus fills the room: ‘O come, let us adore him’.

 _I adore her,_ Bernie thinks, lifting her eyes entirely from the music to gaze at Serena. She looks so alive, her face alight as she draws the music from every person in the hall, her hands weaving magic in the air.

And then it’s over. The music stops, the applause dies away and is replaced by chatter, the kids around Bernie hastily rise and squeeze between stands and chairs to try and get out before the audience completely blocks the way. Bernie sighs and runs a hand through her hair, loosens her bow and tucks her music safely into the folder.

 _All over,_ she thinks, with a mixture of sadness and relief and satisfaction. But just as she’s about to elbow her way through the crowd as politely as she can, she hears her name being called.

It turns out there’s far more to this particular concert than the music. Now she has to endure small talk with an apparently never-ending conveyor belt of students, parents, colleagues and governors, has to try to pay attention to each of them, to be polite and diplomatic when she’s buzzing with adrenaline and just wants to escape to the relative quiet of the office.

She’s near Serena but not as close as she would like, keeps glancing at her to see her bright smile and animated gestures – but she can see the masked tiredness too, knows Serena must feel even more drained than she does. And then, as Bernie’s being grilled by a pompous governor she’s never met and hopes never to meet again, there’s a presence beside her and a familiar hand on her elbow.

‘Lovely to see you, Mr Self, delighted you could make it. Now would you excuse us, we’ve got some very expensive instruments to get packed away.’

Without waiting for an answer she gently pushes Bernie towards her cello, picks up her guitar and then leads the way to the side door; it means they have a little further to walk across the playground, the December air biting through their thin clothes after the heat of the hall, but it avoids the lingering crowd.

She pushes Bernie again, this time towards the office, sticks her head into the classroom to send the last of the kids on their way with a smile and a reminder not to forget their instruments tomorrow.

‘Pub?’ Raf asks. He’s with Fletch and Mikey and Evie, all four wrapped up ready to go.

Serena glances over her shoulder to the office, sees Bernie leaning against the desk staring into space, bow dangling from one hand. ‘You go on, we’ll catch you up.’

Raf follows her gaze, nods and smiles in understanding, and they head out. Serena watches them leave and then goes into the office and puts her guitar away. This seems to rouse Bernie, and Serena busies herself looping her scarf around her neck and settling her hat on her head while she snaps her cello case closed.

‘Alright?’

‘That was–’ Bernie sighs, looks at her with wide eyes. ‘You’re amazing, Serena.’

‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘Of course you could,’ Bernie scoffs.

‘No. I can only be as good as my team. Raf is wonderful, but you – you’ve become so important to me so quickly. Invaluable, really. It’s a little terrifying, to be honest,’ she adds with a tiny laugh.

They’re toe to toe now, eyes locked. Serena reaches to gently stroke Bernie’s cheek, and then leans in to kiss her. They part for a breathless moment then simultaneously lean in and kiss again, firmer now, both of Serena’s hands sliding into Bernie’s hair, one of Bernie’s around Serena’s waist and the other cupping the back of her neck, the tips of her fingers grazing the fur of Serena’s hat.

‘Drink?’ Serena suggests when they part. ‘Just one,’ she promises when Bernie looks uncertain. ‘Better to debrief and decide on cuts for tomorrow now than leave it until the morning.’

Bernie nods, stifles a yawn and then pulls on her coat and scarf, offers her arm to Serena. They leave and walk the short distance to Albie’s pressed tightly together, Serena’s hand curled around Bernie’s elbow, the white plumes of their breath mingling in the cold air, sit pressed together in the pub too and slowly sip their small glasses of Shiraz as they discuss each item. Bernie and Fletch mostly leave Serena and Raf to it, chip in with a comment every now and then, until they’re happy with a shortened programme to perform to the rest of the school.

‘See you in the morning,’ Fletch grins, shepherding the yawning kids towards the door with an arm around each of their shoulders.

There’s a chorus of goodnights, and then the two of them are alone. Serena sighs and leans into Bernie, head dropping to rest heavily on her shoulder. ‘Come home with me,’ she says quietly.

‘I can’t,’ Bernie murmurs, tightening her grip on Serena’s hand where it’s resting on her thigh.

‘I know there’s still tomorrow to get through, but however gorgeous you are I’m far too tired to do anything other than sleep. I just don’t want to say goodnight, Bernie.’

‘No, I mean I can’t,’ Bernie repeats. ‘Not that I don’t want to.’

Serena looks at her, sees the regret in her eyes.

‘Ziggy,’ she explains. ‘My neighbours are looking after him over the weekend but it’s far too late for me to call and ask them to feed him in the morning.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Serena says, trying to ignore the rush of disappointment at the thought of having to go home alone, of having to fall asleep alone instead of with Bernie beside her.

‘But you could come home with me?’ Bernie suggests. ‘I don’t really want to say goodnight either.’

‘Are you sure?’ Serena frowns. ‘I don’t want to–’

‘I’m sure,’ Bernie smiles. ‘We can go via yours so you can pick up some clothes, then you won’t have to fight your way across town in the morning?’

‘Ok,’ Serena smiles. ‘You’d better drink up then, Ms Wolfe.’

So the first night they spend together is far from how either of them imagined it – and they both have imagined it, countless times, in countless ways. Instead of stumbling through the door because they can barely wait, instead of the passionate breaking of all the restraint they’ve maintained for weeks, they change into comfy pyjamas and crawl into bed, Bernie moulding herself against Serena and nuzzling into the back of her neck, Serena finding Bernie’s hand and clasping it between her own.

In the middle of the night Ziggy scratches at the door until Bernie lets him in; he curls up on the corner of the bed by Serena’s feet, a little put out to find someone already on his side of the mattress, and Bernie curls around Serena again, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she drifts back to sleep.

Friday morning is a whirl because while Bernie remembered to set her alarm she failed to account for there being two of them to shower and set it for her usual time. She lets Serena go first while she hurriedly packs for the weekend, feeds Ziggy and makes a pot of tea, tells Serena to go on without her if she needs to so they aren’t both late. But Serena is still there when Bernie emerges from her room, running her fingers through damp hair; she brushes a kiss to her lips and then ushers her out of the door and into the passenger seat of her car, passing her two slices of toast to eat on the way.

When they arrive at school Serena slips into the chaos of the day easily, and Bernie feels two steps behind until Serena motions her over to the front of the room with a look. Half hidden by the tubular bells and under the pretence of checking something she presses against Bernie’s side and places a hand on her arm, and Bernie feels her steadiness steady her too.

*

If Bernie had been in awe of Serena last night, it’s nothing compared to what she feels today. Instead of an audience of parents they’re now faced with an audience of rowdy kids, many of whom would clearly rather be anywhere other than sat listening to carols; the teachers aren’t much better either, most of them looking incredibly uncomfortable at the thought of having to sing.

But somehow Serena cajoles them. From her chair just a few feet away Bernie privately speculates that it’s in part due to the contagious force of Serena’s charisma, and in part because a good number of the people in the hall, staff and students alike, have at least a tiny crush on Serena. She can’t possibly be the only one in thrall to her, the only one who would do pretty much anything she asked, pretty much anything to make her smile. Bernie remembers Miss Jackson, her third year English teacher, remembers how desperate she had been to impress her, to earn her praise, and wonders just how many of these students feel the same way about Serena.

It helps, of course, that Mr Hanssen is setting an example, sitting at the front and joining in with gusto. He has shed his usual serious, staid persona for the day, is happily wearing a Christmas jumper (an almost tasteful Scandinavian number, far less ghastly than most of the other offerings on display this morning) and singing along, the flicker of a smile almost constantly playing around the corners of his mouth. He’s clearly instructed Ric to do the same, although the deputy head looks rather less comfortable; even a wink from Serena only raises the briefest of smiles in return.

It’s like there’s something in the air, though, like Serena has written magic into her music. Before long the majority of staff and students – even some of the most unruly Year Eight boys, even Adele and her friends – are well into the Christmas spirit, singing along enthusiastically if not particularly tunefully, cheering perhaps rather too loudly at the end of each item. There’s a growing sort of fever in the hall, the usual end of term feeling Bernie is used to amplified by several degrees, and she’s immeasurably relieved that she doesn’t have to deal with her form after this but can escape into the post-concert get-out; tidying away and filing music might not hold all that much appeal for her, but it’s a far more attractive option than dealing with a classroom of fourteen year olds in this sort of mood.

*

They’d argued over _Do You Hear What I Hear?_ in Albie’s last night – or rather, Serena and Raf had argued, and Bernie and Fletch had exchanged a glance over their drinks and left them to it: whether or not to mention Arthur, whether or not to include it in their shortened programme at all. But Serena had prevailed, had argued that Arthur deserved to be part of this concert too, that the rest of the school deserved the chance to remember and mourn him, and Raf had relented. She did, however, take his suggestion of warning Hanssen, in fact went further and asked if he would like to say a few words. Clearly he decided that he would, because Serena steps away from her stand and switches places with him, sitting in his empty seat while he stands facing the sea of students and staff. Bernie glances at Serena, then twists around a little and seeks out Dom where he’s sat with his tutor group, watches him blink back tears and smile as Hanssen speaks about his best friend.

*

Unlike last night they escape over to the music department with the rest of the orchestra before anyone else is allowed to leave their seats, take a little time to catch their breath and start on a tin of Celebrations while the hall empties.

‘Good job, everyone,’ Serena smiles.

‘Another successful year,’ Raf agrees. ‘What did you think, Bernie?’

‘Incredible,’ she replies, her eyes briefly catching Serena’s.

‘Worth all the stress?’ Serena teases.

‘Definitely,’ Bernie smiles. ‘I already can’t wait for next year.’

‘You won’t be saying that in October,’ Raf laughs, snagging another tiny Mars bar from the tin.

‘Don’t,’ Serena groans, tipping her head back. ‘I don’t even want to think about doing it again right now.’

‘You love it really,’ Raf grins.

‘Yes, I do,’ Serena concedes. ‘Maybe not at this precise moment in time, though.’

They lapse into silence, until there’s a knock on the door and a group of Year Elevens peer inside. ‘What do you want us to do, Miss?’ one of them asks, looking at Serena.

Bernie looks at her too, then jumps to her feet. ‘You can come back over to the hall with me and make a start moving everything,’ she says.

‘I’ll be over in a minute,’ Serena promises, smiling gratefully.

‘Take your time. Unless you don’t trust me?’ Bernie teases, her eyes sparkling.

‘Oh, I’ll send Raf to keep an eye on you,’ Serena bats back, winking.

‘I get the message,’ Raf grumbles good naturedly, getting to his feet too. ‘Come on, the boss has spoken.’

Serena isn’t that far behind them, comes over with her Year Nine form trailing behind her and sends them to Raf for instructions. By the time the bell goes for break all of the music, cables and microphones have been collected up and taken back over to the department, the music stands have been packed away, and the percussion has been moved and is ready to be shoehorned back into the just-big-enough cupboard under the stairs in reception where it lives. With a smile to the caretakers and the team of Year Ten boys helping them clear the remaining chairs and staging, Serena links one arm through Bernie’s and the other through Raf’s and leads them to the staff room.

They’re almost first in the queue for coffee and mince pies, are comfortably ensconced in their usual seats before the majority of their colleagues come in; most stop to congratulate them on their way past, especially Bernie’s fellow humanities teachers.

‘You were wasted up with us,’ Sacha grins.

‘Well I for one am very glad you employed her,’ Serena says.

‘A real asset to the school,’ Mr Hanssen agrees, almost smiling as he looms up behind Essie, and Bernie blushes and ducks her head.

‘She is indeed,’ Serena smiles, gently touching Bernie’s arm. Bernie glances at her, just for a moment, and flashes her a tiny smile before returning her attention to Sacha and Essie.

‘Serena?’ Dom says quietly on her other side.

‘Dominic,’ Serena smiles.

‘Thank you – for doing that for Arthur. It would have meant a lot to him to still be a part of the concert. It was always his favourite part of the year.’

Serena stands up, rubs his arm and then pulls him into a brief, tight hug. Bernie doesn’t hear what she whispers in Dominic’s ear, offers him a smile of her own when they draw apart and Dom sniffs, his eyes glistening but the tears not quite spilling over now.

*

The three of them linger a little when the bell goes, as the staff room empties and everyone heads back to their form rooms.

‘I suppose we can’t put it off any longer,’ Serena sighs. ‘Any volunteers to pack away the percussion, or shall we leave it to a couple of the kids?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Raf says, not particularly enthusiastically. ‘I don’t trust them, we’ll only have to take it out and do it all over again.’

‘Shall I get one of them to come and help you?’

‘No thanks,’ Raf says quickly, laughing. ‘You know it’ll be quicker if I just do it myself.’

‘Alright. Bernie, you’re with me on music sorting duty.’

Serena leads her back to the classroom where the Year Eleven group are already waiting, sends her to fetch the tin of Celebrations while she gives them their instructions.

‘I’m getting them to do the choir music,’ she murmurs when Bernie rejoins them. ‘We’ll be able to get through the orchestral stuff much quicker on our own once they’ve gone, but this is straightforward.’

Bernie watches for a moment, sees that the students are emptying the choir folders and sorting the music into piles by carol while Serena goes through the remaining boxes of music and folders and programmes to make sure they don’t miss any. She considers, then instead of joining the kids starts emptying the folders Serena is piling up; an excuse to stand close to Serena, yes, but also, she thinks, more efficient than sorting the contents of each folder in turn. And if every now and then her hand brushes Serena’s? Well, she isn’t about to complain.

Before long Raf comes in, rubbing the back of his head and grimacing. ‘I swear that cupboard changes shape just to catch me out,’ he mutters, and they both smile sympathetically, thinking about occasions when they’ve hit their heads in there too.

‘I’ve left the cables and microphones for you. Don’t want to mess up your system,’ Serena teases.

‘Alright,’ Raf nods, his reply muffled slightly by the chocolate in his mouth, and wanders out towards the studio.

Half a dozen programmes in her hand to put into the archive, Serena closes her eyes and listens to the sounds of her department around her: the clatter of cabinets being opened and the rattle of cable against wall as Raf hangs everything back where it belongs, the chatter of the kids and the faint rustle of sheets of music, Bernie humming snatches of melody under her breath. And then she feels Bernie lean closer, feels the shift in the air and the heat of her body just inches away.

‘Alright?’ Bernie murmurs.

Serena nods and smiles contentedly, opens her eyes to find Bernie gazing at her with such warmth that her heart swells and she only just manages to stop herself from brushing a kiss to her lips.

*

School finishes early today, the last day of term, so they wave goodbye to the Year Elevens at what would normally be lunchtime. The choir music is all packed away now, the blue folders in a neat stack ready to go back in the cupboard. Bernie picks up the first orchestral folder to empty, but Serena lays a hand over hers and stops her.

‘Let’s take a break,’ she smiles. ‘Have some lunch. There’s no rush. And besides,’ she adds, moving closer and lowering her voice, a wicked glint in her eyes, ‘I don’t want you running out of energy later.’

Bernie watches as Serena walks across the room and out towards the office, eyes fixed on the extra sway in her hips, runs a hand through her hair and groans softly; in all the excitement and busyness of the day she had, somehow, managed to forget that she’s going to be going home with Serena today, that they’re going to be spending the whole weekend alone together. It’s only the noisy arrival of Evie and Mikey that breaks her out of the hot, dark thoughts that accompany this remembering.

Once their sandwiches have been devoured and the tin of chocolates is almost empty they start in on the orchestral music. Again, Bernie empties all the folders while Serena, Raf and Evie sort it into piles by carol. Once they have eight neat stacks they take one each and arrange it into score order, Evie sitting beside Serena and brightly chattering away to her as she carefully sorts.

Mikey can’t be coaxed to help and Serena clearly doesn’t mind; Bernie suspects she knows from experience that he won’t really be much help. Instead he settles at the computer on the teacher’s desk and acts as DJ, finding cheesy Christmas songs on YouTube and not letting any of them play to the end. When Serena stands to fetch a second pile of music Bernie allows herself to look up from her own sorting and spend a moment watching her; their eyes meet and Serena smiles but Bernie can see the tension, imagines Serena can only be more tired than she is herself, that the constant changing of songs must be irritating her too. So she gets up, lightly brushes her hand along Serena’s arm as she passes her, ignores her questioning frown and leaves the classroom. She comes back in with a toolbox in one hand, a bag of spare glockenspiel notepegs between her teeth, and a box containing a selection of broken percussion instruments in her arms – the casualties of the half term that none of them have had chance to deal with – and plonks them both down on a table.

‘Mikey?’ she calls. ‘I’ve got a challenge for you.’

The boy’s eyes light up, and he dashes around the tables to join her. ‘What?’

‘I want you to see how many of these you can fix by the time we’re finished. You up for that?’

Mikey nods enthusiastically and starts rooting around in the box; it’s noisy but far less distracting than his DJing attempts, and Serena smiles gratefully at Bernie, holds her gaze long enough that Bernie has to duck her head and force herself to return her attention to her pile of music.

 _The sooner we’re done here,_ she thinks, not letting herself look up again even though she can feel Serena’s eyes on her. _The sooner we’re done here…_

‘You head off now, Raf,’ Serena says, when all that’s left to do is to return the music to the cupboard. ‘We’ll finish up.’

‘Are you sure?’ Raf frowns. ‘I don’t mind staying a bit longer.’

Serena smiles and shakes her head. ‘No point in all of us staying. And I imagine these two are keen to start their holiday.’

‘Okay then. Get your stuff, you guys.’

The kids jump up, pull on coats and scarves while Raf gets his from the office.

‘Have a good Christmas,’ Serena smiles, when they’re all bundled up.

‘We’ll see you before school starts back, won’t we?’ Evie asks as she hugs her.

‘I’m sure you will,’ Serena reassures her.

‘And you?’ Evie asks, turning to Bernie with a hopeful look on her face.

Bernie smiles and nods. ‘I might even bring cookies,’ she says conspiratorially.

‘Chocolate chip?’

‘Maybe,’ Bernie says slowly, teasingly, and, much to her surprise, Evie hugs her too.

*

Once they’ve waved the trio off, Bernie and Serena ferry the blue and orange folders from the classroom to the cupboard.

‘I’ll do the orchestral ones, shall I?’ Bernie asks, staring up at the shelves.

‘Please,’ Serena murmurs, thinking of the day she took the folders down, when she stumbled and Bernie held her up.

Bernie turns to look at her, the movement putting them almost toe to toe in the narrow cupboard. ‘Serena,’ she says softly, reaching for her hand.

There’s no one else in the building, hardly anyone else in the school. So Serena leans closer and nudges her nose against Bernie’s before kissing her. Surprised, Bernie freezes, but then her lips chase Serena’s and her arms slide around Serena’s waist to hold her close.

‘Make sure everything goes back in the right place, won’t you,’ Serena warns when they eventually part.

‘I wouldn’t dare mess up your system,’ Bernie teases, swaying out of the way to avoid Serena’s attempt to prod her in the side.

Despite the delicious tension between them it’s restful here in the narrow cupboard, just the two of them surrounded by all this music, all this evidence of Serena’s passion and talent and hard work. After the day – the week – they’ve had Bernie finally feels herself start to relax, feels her shoulders drop and the stress seep from her body, feels the tiredness start to creep in instead. The last of her folders slipped back into place she leans back against the shelves, turns her head to watch as Serena replaces _O Come All Ye Faithful_ and lightly runs her fingers along the edges of the serried folders, a soft and almost sad smile playing around her lips.

‘All done,’ she says quietly, barely above a whisper.

Bernie nods, reaches for her hand and gently tugs her closer until she can wrap her arms around Serena and stroke her palms up and down Serena’s back, the sides of their heads resting together.

‘Ready to go?’ Bernie murmurs in Serena’s ear, the feel of her breath and the timbre of her voice making Serena shiver.

‘Not quite,’ she replies, drawing away.

Bernie stays leaning against the shelves for a moment after Serena has walked away, eventually pushes herself off them to follow her, to find out what she hadn’t realised still needs doing.

Serena is in the classroom they sorted the music in, flitting around straightening tables and tucking in chairs, swiping errant pens into the desk drawer – all jobs that, as far as Bernie is concerned, are unnecessary. She leans against the doorframe, watches as Serena goes into each of the six practice rooms and checks them, and feels anxiety gnawing at her gut.

‘Serena?’ she says softly, when her hand is on the door of the last room.

‘Yes?’ Serena replies, turning to her.

‘We– we don’t have to– I mean,’ Bernie stutters. ‘If you don’t want to do, well, anything, then that’s–’

Serena frowns, a flicker of anxiety passing across her face. ‘Do you– do you mean you don’t–?’

‘No,’ Bernie says quickly, cutting her off. ‘It’s just– well, you’re tidying an already pretty tidy room. Classic procrastination move.’

Serena holds Bernie’s gaze a moment longer, opens the door and sticks her head inside the practice room, closes it and then slowly crosses the classroom towards her, their eyes locked again.

‘If you’re nervous it’s okay,’ Bernie says, her brow creased. ‘We can just–’

‘I want you,’ Serena says, quiet and firm, when she’s just a foot away from Bernie, her finger on the light switch.

Bernie trembles a little at the conviction in her voice, her eyes, feels herself sag against the doorframe.

‘I just want to be able to relax knowing everything’s in its place,’ Serena continues. ‘I’m going to have far more important things to think about,’ she adds, flicking off the lights and touching Bernie’s arm. ‘And I want to be able to focus without any niggling distractions.’

She brushes past Bernie, when she’s halfway to the office turns back to look at her. ‘Coming, Ms Wolfe?’ she asks, eyebrow quirked and eyes glinting.

By the time they leave, the school is almost deserted. They walk through reception side by side, nod and smile and offer ‘Merry Christmases’ to the few other staff they pass, and then Bernie steps aside to allow Serena through the main doors ahead of her.

Outside Serena pauses for Bernie to catch her up and they fall into stride again. Bernie is surprised when Serena’s free hand, the one not carrying her guitar, brushes hers, glances across to see a faint smile on Serena’s lips. She’s even more surprised when Serena’s fingers slips between hers, like they belong there, like this is how they leave work every day; she only wishes they weren’t wearing gloves so she could feel Serena’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about to begin a week that looks rather similar to the one Bernie and Serena just had (although thankfully I have far less responsibility than either of them!) - so the final chapter will be slightly delayed until the chaos is over.


	11. Christmas Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who's read and commented, I hope you enjoy the final chapter. (And to those who wished luck in the concert, it went incredibly well and I'm so proud of our new head of department. I perhaps shouldn't have chosen a carol we were actually performing as Arthur's memorial though...). Merry Christmas!

When they get in, closing the door against the chilly, dimming afternoon, Serena takes Bernie’s coat from her and hangs it beside her own.

‘I’ll go and make some tea,’ she says, barely stifling a yawn. ‘Stick something mindless on,’ she adds, gesturing towards the TV. ‘I don’t know about you but I could do with taking the weight off my feet and winding down a little before anything else.’

Bernie hums in agreement, picks up the remote and sinks onto the sofa with a soft groan. As she settles back against the cushions a heavy tiredness she hadn’t been aware of steals over her, seeping into her bones; she might have spent the entire drive over desperate to kiss Serena but right now all she can think about is a nap, and she has to fight to keep her eyelids from slipping closed.

‘Ah, Nigella,’ Serena smiles when she comes back in, a mug in each hand. ‘Have a thing for curvy brunettes, do you?’ she teases. Bernie blushes, but Serena just pats her arm as she sits heavily beside her and then shifts closer. ‘Quite a week,’ she murmurs, resting her head on Bernie’s shoulder.

‘Quite a term,’ Bernie corrects her, slipping one arm around Serena, her head tipping to rest against Serena’s.

‘Hm,’ Serena agrees. ‘I’m glad you were there, darling. Glad you’re here.’

‘Me too,’ Bernie smiles, pressing a kiss to Serena’s hair.

The next time Serena opens her eyes it’s fully dark outside, and Nigella has somehow metamorphosed into Jamie Oliver. She blinks and shifts to squint at the clock, her movements rousing Bernie.

‘Oh god, I’m so sorry,’ Serena gasps, blushing and pushing herself up.

But Bernie just smiles sleepily and tugs her closer again. ‘You weren’t the only one who drifted off,’ she murmurs, before kissing Serena softly.

One kiss turns into another and then another, into Bernie nipping at Serena’s neck and the light scrape of Serena’s nails across Bernie’s stomach, into Bernie shifting so she can gently press Serena down onto the sofa and Serena moaning as Bernie’s hips and breasts push into hers, into Serena tangling her hands in Bernie’s hair and slipping her tongue into Bernie’s mouth.

‘I think I’m rather too old for this,’ Serena groans, panting.

Bernie sits up abruptly and pulls her hands from under Serena’s blouse. Serena can see the panic in her eyes, can see her desperately trying to decide on an escape route. She sits up too, ignoring the twinge in her back and the way her hip cracks, and reaches awkwardly to cup Bernie’s face in both hands.

‘I meant on the sofa,’ she says, smiling softly, her thumbs caressing Bernie’s cheekbones. She feels the heat of Bernie’s blush beneath her hands, feels her jaw move as she opens her mouth and then feels her blush deepen as her stomach rumbles before she can speak.

‘Sorry,’ Bernie mutters, decidedly not looking at Serena.

‘Oh don’t worry, mine isn’t far behind,’ Serena reassures her, squeezing her knee and waiting for Bernie to meet her eye.

‘Takeaway?’ Bernie suggests.

‘No need, I made extra yesterday. Thought we might not want to cook – although not because I’d fallen asleep on you,’ she adds, with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Bernie smiles at this, smiles wider when Serena shifts to kiss her, wider still when Serena stands and she can watch the sway of her hips as she crosses the room.

‘Turn that off and I’ll put some music on.’

‘Not carols, please,’ Bernie groans, reaching for the remote.

‘All Christmassed out, hm?’ Serena smiles. ‘Truth be told Christmas music is the last thing I want to hear now too.’

She stands in front of the shelves, fingers running along the CD cases. Bernie rises, winces as she straightens her spine then comes up behind Serena and looks over her shoulder, slips an arm around her waist and draws her closer.

‘What do you fancy?’

‘You,’ Bernie replies, smirking.

‘Mm, I had gathered that,’ Serena teases, tipping her head back to rest on Bernie’s shoulder.

‘It’s got to be Bach really, hasn’t it?’ Bernie says, scanning the shelves and reaching forward when she spots what she’s looking for: cello suites played on the guitar. The movement presses her breasts tighter against Serena’s back, her cheek against Serena’s, and Serena’s almost certain Bernie’s doing it on purpose.

‘Excellent choice,’ she murmurs, ignoring the desire thrilling through her veins.

‘Glad you approve,’ Bernie replies, her lips ghosting over the shell of Serena’s ear, her fingers pressing into Serena’s waist.

‘Right, well you pop that on and I’ll get dinner started,’ Serena says abruptly, disentangling herself and moving away.

Or trying to move away, anyway. Bernie catches at her hand and tugs her back around, her eyes slightly narrowed as she studies Serena’s face. And then she smiles gently, just the barest curve of her lips, squeezes Serena’s fingers and lets her go.

They eat dinner around a corner of the kitchen table, their feet touching and their eyes meeting. The end of term weariness has entirely vanished now and Serena is practically thrumming with anticipation, like the rush of adrenaline before a concert but at the same time so unlike it. She finishes her curry, picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, feels her desire tighten when she sees that Bernie’s gaze has dropped to her throat. She can’t resist taking another sip and swallowing slowly, watching as Bernie’s eyes darken with want, smirks when Bernie realises that she’s staring and clears her throat, her gaze slipping to the tabletop and her teeth worrying her lip.

‘I like it when you watch me,’ Serena says softly. ‘I like the feel of your eyes on me, being able to see how much you want me.’

Bernie raises her eyes to meet Serena’s, searches her face for any hint of a lie; her shoulders drop a little when she finds none, and she smiles. ‘That’s good, because I like watching you.’

Serena smiles too, reaches across the table for Bernie’s empty bowl but Bernie stops her.

‘Let me?’

Serena nods, sits back in her chair and sips her wine while Bernie clears the table and moves to the sink, lets her eyes trace Bernie’s spine and suddenly needs to be touching her. She pads across the room and gently grips Bernie’s hips, turns her around and presses her back against the sink to kiss her. In her Marigolds, dripping with soap suds, Bernie can’t touch her, can only push forwards into her and moan.

‘I like this too,’ Serena murmurs.

‘What?’

‘Starting and ending my day with you. In bed with you.’

‘We haven’t actually made it to bed yet,’ Bernie points out.

‘You should get a move on, then,’ Serena teases.

‘I was doing just fine until someone distracted me,’ Bernie retorts.

‘Fine,’ Serena sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes as she takes a step back. ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’

Bernie smiles, her eyes narrowing with happiness. ‘I always want you,’ she says quietly, as if she’s sharing a secret.

Serena’s cheeks flush, the colour spreading to the triangle of skin Bernie can see between the edges of her blouse, and her hand rises to flutter at the base of her throat. But her eyes, dark and glittering and gorgeous, remain fixed on Bernie’s.

‘I’m going to head upstairs,’ she says huskily. ‘Join me when you’re ready.’

Bernie watches her go, then shakes her head and turns back to the dishes. She speeds through the rest of them, amazed that she doesn’t smash either of the wine glasses in her haste, checks that the front door is locked and takes care to switch off all of the lights.

Upstairs she follows the light seeping around a door to Serena’s room and steps inside. Serena turns around and Bernie feels almost dizzy, has to grasp at the door frame to hold herself upright. Because Serena is in just her underwear, dark teal satin and black lace, her face bare, her pale skin glowing warm in the lamplight, her eyes dark and filled with promise and want.

‘Have you been wearing that all day?’ Bernie chokes out.

Serena doesn’t reply, but her smile is all the answer Bernie needs.

‘Good job I didn’t know,’ Bernie mutters.

She pushes herself further into the room, heart thudding in her chest, forces herself not to reach for Serena and instead heads for the bathroom.

‘Don’t take it off yet,’ she says before she closes the door.

‘I won’t,’ Serena promises.

 _Bloody hell,_ Bernie thinks, gripping the cool edge of the sink and trying to calm herself.

Serena is just pulling back the covers when the bathroom door opens and Bernie steps out. She’s stripped down to her underwear too, sensible black cotton that only makes her skin look paler, and Serena can only stare at her, mesmerised, as she comes closer.

‘Serena?’ she says, soft and sibilant.

‘Hm?’

‘All that restraint? No need for it any more.’

Serena practically launches herself the last few feet separating them, groaning against Bernie’s lips as their bodies mould together, all hot skin and soft flesh. She tangles her fingers in Bernie’s hair, her other hand sliding around to grasp at her shoulder. Suddenly faced with all of Serena, Bernie doesn’t know where she wants to touch first, for now settles for just wrapping her arms around her to hold their bodies flush.

And then Serena tears her mouth from Bernie’s and laughs, rich and ringing and joyous. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says when Bernie’s brow creases. ‘I just– I’ve wanted this for so long and I can’t quite believe it’s actually happening.’

‘Me neither,’ Bernie smiles. ‘Bed?’

‘Feeling a little wobbly on our feet, are we?’ Serena teases.

‘What can I say? That’s just the effect you have on me.’

Serena hums happily, and brushes another lingering kiss to Bernie’s lips. ‘God, I could kiss you all night.’

‘You could,’ Bernie says. ‘Or…’

‘Or what?’ Serena asks, her voice low and husky.

Bernie slips her thigh between Serena’s and rocks against her; she can’t stop a moan escaping at Serena’s heat and the rasp of lace against her skin, but it’s drowned by Serena’s own moan.

‘But if you’d prefer to just kiss,’ Bernie smirks, withdrawing her thigh.

‘Maybe another night,’ Serena says, taking a step back and running the tips of her fingers along Bernie’s collarbone then down between her breasts, pausing a moment before tracing the line of her bra with the backs of her nails.

‘And tonight?’ Bernie asks, breathless.

Serena looks up from where her gaze has been tracking her fingers, kisses Bernie with far more tenderness than the blackness of her eyes would suggest, both her hands sliding around Bernie’s back to unclasp her bra.

‘Okay?’ she asks quietly, holding it in place.

Bernie nods, shivers a little as Serena coaxes the straps from her shoulders and lets go. Her fingertips trace Bernie’s ribs, and then her thumbs brush the soft undersides of her breasts and Bernie shivers again.

‘Darling,’ Serena murmurs reverentially.

‘Serena,’ Bernie whispers. And then she gasps, because the pads of Serena’s thumbs have grazed her nipples.

‘Tonight,’ Serena says. ‘Tonight I’d like to take you to bed.’ She bites her lip, gazes wide-eyed at Bernie.

‘Whatever the lady wants,’ Bernie smiles.

‘Only– only if that’s what you want too.’

‘It is,’ Bernie reassures her, her voice adamant and unwavering. She curls her hand around Serena’s where it covers her breast, raises her other to trace Serena’s jaw, her thumb dragging across Serena’s bottom lip. ‘Take me to bed, Ms Campbell.’

*

Bernie wakes slowly, hazily, and is then suddenly alert. She doesn’t know where she is: the sheets are too soft and they smell wrong, and the light is coming from the wrong direction, and–

And then Serena shifts and snuggles closer to her, pressing a sleepy, clumsy, smiling kiss to her collarbone. Bernie lets out a breath and nuzzles into her, lips against her scalp, her eyes falling closed again. They stay like that for a while, cocooned under the duvet, drifting in and out of the best sleep either of them has had since the run up to the concert started in earnest, until Bernie can no longer ignore her bladder. She moves as quickly as she can: despite Serena’s central heating it’s still chilly with no clothes on. As she slips back under the covers Serena gets up and does the same, comes back shivery.

‘Let me warm you up?’ Bernie offers, lifting the covers and holding out her arm.

She meant it innocently but Serena quirks her eyebrow suggestively and slowly slides against her, a shiver of a different kind passing through them as their breaths mingle and their breasts press together.

‘What did you have in mind?’ Bernie asks, her lips ghosting over Serena’s, drawing back just enough to keep Serena from being able to kiss her and relishing her little whine of frustration.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Serena murmurs, trailing her fingers down Bernie’s side, smiling as she squirms and her skin pimples. ‘What do you fancy doing?’ she asks, hand curling around the jut of Bernie’s hip.

‘You.’

Serena gasps at the brazenness of it, so unlike Bernie, at the darkness of Bernie’s eyes. ‘Then take me.’

Bernie gazes at her for what feels like an eternity, an overlong fermata in the middle of a piece. She must find whatever she’s looking for because she firmly pushes Serena onto her back and hovers above her, the covers tenting around them, her hair falling around her face and tickling Serena’s cheeks. ‘Spending the first day of the holidays in bed? My kind of girl.’

Serena’s fears that she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet were not unfounded; Bernie had learnt this last night, had wondered if it was just the thrill of the new, the effect of finally sleeping together after so long wanting it, the release of all that pent-up desire. But clearly not. From the moment Bernie begins to drag her lips (and her tongue, and her teeth too, when it becomes obvious that’s something Serena likes) across Serena’s skin, a symphony of sounds spills from her mouth. Bernie drinks them all in – the mewls and cries, moans and sighs – draws them from Serena and whispers into her skin how good she feels, how good she sounds, how she’s never sounded so beautiful.

‘You’re so soft,’ Bernie murmurs, gently parting her. ‘Soft and hot and wet.’

‘Do you like it?’ Serena asks, her voice low and rich with desire. ‘Knowing how much you turn me on? Does it make you wet too, Bernie, feeling how much I want you?’

‘God, yes,’ Bernie groans.

Serena shifts her hips, cants them upwards in search of _more_ but Bernie remains resolutely gentle and teasing. Until Serena lightly rakes her nails down Bernie’s spine, a still-unfamiliar sensation that has Bernie arching her back, pressing them even closer together, and she can’t hold back any more. She kisses Serena’s lips, swallowing her moan of protest when she moves her hand away.

‘Patience,’ Bernie murmurs.

‘Bernie,’ Serena almost growls.

But then Bernie begins working her way down Serena’s body, kisses each breast and across her ribs, and Serena shivers in anticipation, cries out when Bernie nips at her hip before settling between her legs. Bernie looks up at her, her eyes dark and hooded, then lowers her head, and Serena sobs at the first touch of her lips. Her hands grasp at Bernie’s hair, at the sheets, at thin air, desperately trying to keep herself grounded, but it’s futile in the face of Bernie’s onslaught. Her tongue teases in an ever-changing rhythm, her fingers curl inside her, and an incoherent stream of broken pleas and curses fills the room.

When Serena comes she goes still as Bernie’s name tears from her throat, the only movement the fluttering around Bernie’s fingers and against her tongue. There’s a moment of perfect stillness and roaring silence, a rest punctuating the crescendo. And then Serena tangles her fingers in Bernie’s hair and tugs; Bernie follows willingly, and Serena marshals heavy limbs to drag her close enough to kiss her, humming against her lips at the taste of herself. Bernie settles on top of her, her weight delicious, and Serena groans at the feel of hot, wet curls pressing against her thigh. Her kiss turns fierce, and she swallows the tiny moan that escapes Bernie’s throat.

‘You’re going to have to help me,’ Serena says, hand stroking down Bernie’s back to rest on the flare of her hip, her thumb sneaking between their bodies. ‘I feel like I’m stuck to the mattress.’

‘You don’t have to–’

‘I _need_ to, else I think I’ll go mad.’

When she sees the heat in Serena’s gaze Bernie feels herself throb, has to force herself to breathe. ‘It, um, it won’t take much,’ she apologises, blushing, her eyes flitting from Serena’s.

‘Don’t ever apologise for that, darling,’ Serena soothes, her voice vibrating through Bernie’s body and making her shiver. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like, knowing what touching me does to you? Do you have any idea what it does to me?’

‘Pretty sure I can guess,’ Bernie murmurs, shifting as Serena pushes ineffectually at her waist.

‘Tell me what you want, Bernie. Or show me,’ she suggests when Bernie hesitates.

Bernie kisses Serena and then moves to straddle her, rising up on her knees. Serena’s hands slide forwards, her fingers along Bernie’s hipbones, her thumbs stroking uneven circles on her soft inner thighs.

‘Please,’ Bernie almost whimpers.

Serena leaves her right hand where it is, grips a little firmer as she moves her left to cup Bernie, gasping at the wetness she finds, at the strangled sound Bernie makes. Her fingers glide easily and Serena is torn, can’t decide whether she wants to gaze at where they disappear inside Bernie, or at Bernie toying with her own breast, the fingers that were inside her just moments ago pinching and twisting her nipple, or at Bernie’s face in an agony of pleasure.

‘Serena,’ Bernie stutters, her hips jerking.

‘It’s okay, I’ve got you,’ Serena murmurs as Bernie throws her head back. She wishes she could find the strength to move, longs to run her tongue up Bernie’s throat, to rest her lips there and feel the vibrations of her moans.

Bernie’s hand flies to her hip, gripping Serena’s almost painfully as she shudders, and Serena feels her orgasm around her fingers, marvels at it and wonders if Bernie’s pleasure will ever stop feeling like the most precious, incredible gift, if she’ll ever get enough of her.

Trembling, Bernie collapses half on top of Serena, face pressed into the pillow and the curve of her shoulder. Serena knows they’ll both regret it later but right now she can’t even contemplate moving, wants to stay here all sticky and sated and boneless, every nerve in her body singing, this glorious, glorious woman sprawled over her.

*

Freshly showered and dressed, Bernie comes downstairs expecting Serena to be pottering around in the kitchen putting together some lunch. But the kitchen is empty. Bernie frowns, and then hears a sequence of notes on the piano. She follows the sound to Serena’s study-cum-music room, smiles when she sees Serena sat at the piano in just her silk robe, fingers straying across the keys, sometimes silently, sometimes depressing them softly.

Bernie watches for a moment then quietly pads back into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb Serena’s concentration and make her lose her inspiration. There’s a pan on the hob, and a packet of pasta on the counter: clearly Serena got distracted before she could get any further. So Bernie boils water and puts the pasta on, rummages in the fridge until she finds a jar of pesto and in the cupboards for bowls and mugs.

Tea made, she leaves the pasta to mind itself and carries the mugs into the study.

‘What are you working on?’ she asks softly, not wanting to startle Serena.

Serena turns on the stool to look at her, shuffles along and tilts her head in invitation. Bernie comes to sit beside her – there’s just space for the two of them, a little precarious even with their thighs pressed tight together – passes Serena her mug and wraps both hands around her own, waits as Serena’s fingers dance along the keys again to whatever melody is filling her head.

‘You,’ Serena says eventually.

‘Sorry?’ Bernie frowns.

‘Music is the way I express myself, the way I capture my emotions,’ Serena explains, her eyes still fixed on the keyboard. ‘You make me feel so much, Bernie, I need to let it out somehow.’

Bernie gazes at Serena’s profile, blinking in disbelief. ‘You’re– you’re writing me into a song?’

‘I’d write you into a symphony if I could, darling, but I don’t think even that would be enough. I’m not even certain I’ve got the skills to do justice to all this,’ she adds, gesturing between them, ‘if I spent the rest of my life working on it.’

‘Oh,’ Bernie breathes.

Serena’s hand stills and she looks at Bernie, brow creasing a little. ‘Are you– I mean, is that– is that alright?’

Her eyes glittering with tears Bernie smiles and nods, removes one hand from her mug to lightly rest it over Serena’s. ‘It’s far more than alright,’ she says unsteadily.

All through lunch Serena is clearly elsewhere, her fingers tapping out rhythms on the tabletop, a distant look in her eyes. Bernie doesn’t mind; she’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Serena has been inspired by her, wants to write music because of her.

‘Go on,’ she says softly when they’ve finished eating. ‘I’ll tidy up.’

‘Are you sure?’

Bernie nods. ‘I would hate for you to lose whatever you’re thinking of because I made you do the washing up.’

Serena flashes her a grateful smile, brushes a kiss to her cheek on her way past. As she rinses their bowls Bernie hears more snatches of melody, some chords too now; a wide smile spreads across her face and she stifles a laugh – because of all the things she thought she might find at Holby this certainly wasn’t on the list.

When Bernie drifts back to the study she finds Serena scribbling something on a sheet of manuscript paper, walks up behind her and rests her hands on her shoulders as she sets the pencil down and returns to the keyboard to try out what she’s written down.

‘Got it?’ Bernie asks softly.

‘Enough for now.’

Bernie caresses Serena’s shoulders, fingers slipping under the silk of her robe to her warm skin, shifts to press against her back and kisses the crown of her head.

Serena tips her head back and leans into Bernie, arches her neck as Bernie’s fingers begin to stray. Her breath is coming quickly and unevenly now: _another rhythm to use_ , she thinks a little wildly, glad of the cool keys under her fingers keeping her grounded as her head begins to spin with desire.

‘No,’ she gasps when one of Bernie’s hands slides to cup her breast, grazing an already hard nipple. ‘Not here, or I’ll never be able to play without thinking of it.’

Serena twists on the stool, and Bernie shivers when she sees how blown her pupils are, how hooded her eyes. She steps back, holds out her hand and draws Serena up, leads her from the room and then pins her against the wall just feet from the door.

‘Okay?’ she says, breathless, her nose almost touching Serena’s.

All Serena can do is nod. The look in Bernie’s eyes – lust, yes, but so much more than that – has rendered her speechless, barely even able to draw air into her lungs.

Bernie kisses her messily, all teeth and tongue and desperation. Serena keens in protest as she moves back, but it’s only to slip her hands between them to undo the tie holding Serena’s robe closed and then she’s pressing against Serena again. Serena can’t keep herself from arching into her, fingers tangling in her hair, moaning as Bernie draws one of her legs up to hook around her hip.

‘I wish I could turn all the sounds you make into a song,’ Bernie murmurs between kisses and nips and licks down her neck, the curve of her shoulder. ‘You’re more beautiful than any music I’ve ever heard. God, the first time I heard you come, Serena.’

As she says this Bernie trails her fingers up Serena’s leg and into the wet heat between her thighs, holds them there a moment as Serena gasps before slowly, lightly drawing the tip of just one over her clit.

‘Bernie please, oh darling please,’ spills from Serena’s lips in a just-coherent rush.

Bernie teases her, gentle strokes just shy of where she knows Serena really wants her, delighting in every sound Serena makes, every shudder of her body. But she can’t tease long, not when she wants this just as much as Serena does. When she slides two fingers into Serena, achingly slowly, Serena almost sobs with relief, cries out when the heel of Bernie’s palm presses hard against her clit.

‘Serena,’ Bernie murmurs, lips on the racing pulse in Serena’s neck.

‘God, I love the way you say my name,’ Serena moans, her head rolling on the wall behind her, trying to give Bernie even more access to her skin.

‘Serena,’ Bernie repeats, curling her fingers just so.

‘More,’ Serena pleads. ‘Bernie, I need–’

Before Serena can finish Bernie is already adding another finger, fighting to keep a steady rhythm as the roll of Serena’s hips turns jagged, her breaths staccato pants catching in her throat, her nails biting almost painfully even through the fabric of Bernie’s shirt, leaving little half moons on her skin that will serve as a heady reminder when she spots them in the mirror later. And then her back bows off the wall, her hips surging forwards, and she comes with a hoarse cry of Bernie’s name.

Serena comes to with her face pressed into the crook of Bernie’s neck, Bernie’s lips soft on her temple, only the firm strength of Bernie’s body pressing her into the wall keeping her upright. She groans quietly, contentedly, raises her head and feels the prick of tears when she meets Bernie’s gaze and finds her dark eyes filled with adoration, suspects they’re a good mirror to her own expression.

‘Okay?’ Bernie asks softly.

‘Mm,’ Serena hums, smiling, lowering her foot to the floor and laughing when her leg shakes.

Bernie gathers her in close, slips both arms around her and buries her face in Serena’s hair, nuzzling into her.

‘Are you, darling?’

‘Yes,’ Bernie replies, her voice muffled and a little unsteady.

Serena just hums soothingly, rubs her hand along the curve of Bernie’s spine and presses her lips to Bernie’s shoulder. She can’t remember the last time she felt so satisfied, so euphoric, so suffused with happiness, suspects Bernie feels the same and knows she’ll be struggling to work out how to express it.

Eventually, just as Serena is starting to feel a little chilly, Bernie raises her head and draws back enough to meet her gaze. ‘I’ve never been as happy as I am right now,’ she says quietly, her eyes glimmering.

Serena feels the tears return, blinks them away and tucks a curl of hair behind Bernie’s ear. ‘Me neither,’ she replies. She nuzzles her nose against Bernie’s, kisses her softly and feels Bernie’s lips curve upwards against hers. ‘I remember the first time I found a duet partner I clicked with – like Morven and Jasmine do. I thought nothing could feel better than that but I was wrong.’

‘I almost didn’t apply for the job covering for Ric,’ Bernie admits, consternation clouding her face. ‘We might never have met.’

‘But we did,’ Serena soothes, stroking her cheek, her heart fluttering at the thought that they almost didn’t find each other. ‘We did, darling. And I’ve never been so glad of anything. I suppose I owe Ric a drink for going on sabbatical,’ she adds lightly, relieved when the tinge of pain at what could have been – what almost wasn’t – leaves Bernie’s eyes.

*

They remain in each other’s orbit all day, only separating long enough for Serena to shower – alone, at her insistence (‘I’m not as young as I used to be,’ she explains, gently shoving Bernie from her. ‘After all the exercise you’ve given me I don’t trust my legs to hold me up, and I’d rather we didn’t spend Christmas in A and E because we slipped.’). By evening the tiredness of the long term is catching up with them again and, after steaming bowls of soup and ginger biscuits leftover from the weekend, they curl on the sofa with just the tree and the TV lighting the room, Serena cradled between Bernie’s legs.

‘I love this film,’ Serena murmurs as Cate Blanchett catches the eye of Rooney Mara’s Santa-hatted shop girl across the train set and Christmas decorations and dolls, remembering all the times she’s met Bernie’s gaze across the classroom, the staff room, the tops of their music stands, the heady feeling of the spark between them well before she realised what it was.

Bernie clasps both of Serena’s hands beneath their shared blanket, nuzzles into her and kisses just behind her ear, the spot that makes Serena hum every time she finds it. ‘Have a thing for blondes, do you?’ she teases.

‘She’s very pretty, I won’t deny,’ Serena smiles. ‘But her hair’s far too tidy for my liking. There’s just the one blonde for me, thank you very much.’

‘She’s a lucky woman,’ Bernie murmurs. ‘ _I’m_ a lucky woman,’ she corrects herself. ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Serena.’

‘Did you have to do anything?’ Serena asks. ‘Happiness isn’t a reward, darling. But if it were,’ she adds, ‘then I must have done something very good in a past life.’

Bernie says nothing, just presses another kiss to Serena’s neck and nestles into her, her breath warm as it whispers across Serena’s skin, and Serena squeezes her fingers tightly.

‘If I were to arrange [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzvVLFQm6sM),’ Serena says later, when Carol and Therese are setting off along snow-dusted roads, ‘would you conduct it next year?’

‘Yes,’ Bernie says without hesitation, despite all the nerves and worry conducting _Cantique_ has caused her.

Serena twists her head, their noses touching as their eyes meet, and Serena searches Bernie’s face. ‘I like the thought of doing that every year,’ she says a little cautiously. ‘Of you conducting one of my arrangements – of writing something for you to conduct.’

‘You don’t mind relinquishing control?’ Bernie teases.

‘Not when it’s to you,’ Serena says seriously. ‘It could be another department tradition?’

‘I like the sound of that,’ Bernie smiles, her heart swelling both at Serena’s trust in her and at the thought of being somewhere long enough to be part of a tradition – of being here long enough to start a new tradition with Serena.

Serena smiles too, brushes a lingering kiss to Bernie’s lips before settling back against her. She breathes in the smell of pine and tinsel and Bernie’s clothes detergent and sighs, clasps Bernie’s hand a little firmer and runs her thumb across the bumps of her knuckles, feels a flush of warmth at the memory of just what those hands can do, what they can make her feel. What they can do musically too, all the skills Bernie has that make her just what Serena needs.

‘I love you,’ she says, the words spilling from her lips before she really thinks about them. She feels Bernie tense and for a moment panics, but then Bernie’s lips are pressing a kiss to the side of her head, her nose gently nudging until Serena looks around at her.

The tree lights dance in multicoloured pinpricks in Serena’s dark eyes, and for once words come easily to Bernie. ‘I fell in love with you a long time ago,’ she says softly, slipping one hand from Serena’s grasp to stroke her cheek.

‘What a fortunate coincidence,’ Serena smiles. When their lips touch, tender and slow and lingering, Serena swears she hears a perfect cadence. She knows it must only be in her head and would laugh at the cheesiness of her inner orchestra were it not for the fact that kissing Bernie – being here, with Bernie, in Bernie’s arms – does indeed feel like coming home, like completeness, like she has finally found where she ought to be and who she ought to be there with.

*          *          *          *          *

A year later Bernie steps onto the low staging block acting as the conductor’s podium, opens her score and then scans the orchestra, making sure every eye is on her before they start. Her gaze lands on Serena, who winks and smiles brightly over her music stand. Bernie can’t help but smile in return, raises her hands – nothing Serena says will ever convince her to use a baton – and beats the tempo.

Bernie has heard this arrangement at every stage of its creation: little snatches of inspiration on the piano or guitar, the very first rough draft, Serena humming snatches of melody or harmony as she refined it, the finished piece played by the computer with Serena standing behind her, nervously fiddling with her necklace. She knows it inside out, every single note, but hearing it here and now – the orchestra under her command as they bring Serena’s vision to life, the choirs and audience listening in rapt silence – her heart swells almost painfully. Everything Serena writes is beautiful, but this?

Bernie thinks back to the night Serena first suggested arranging it – arranging it _for her_ – and has to blink sudden tears away. Her eyes seek Serena almost without her permission and somehow she knows Serena is thinking of that night too, can see it on her face and hear it in what she’s playing. Bernie knows that Serena puts a little of herself into her music but in that instant she _feels_ it, feels the pull of emotion and for a couple of bars fights against it. And then she realises that she doesn’t need to – realises that Serena doesn’t, that Serena allows it to sweep her away, and everyone else along with her. She draws the warmth of the memory – of Serena telling her she loved her – around her, feels it spill from her fingertips and hears it reflected back from each and every musician, but from Serena most of all.

*

Serena drops her left hand to her knee and gazes across the orchestra at Bernie as she counts her fourteen bars of rest – bars she’s willing to admit, if only to herself, she wrote into her part mainly because it sounded right but partly for expressly this purpose: to give herself the opportunity to watch Bernie in action.

This is the third item Bernie has conducted in the carol concert. Her confidence has grown over the past twelve months and Serena feels a rush of pride as she watches Bernie’s hands dance through the air, watches her animated expressions, the way a curl of hair slips from behind her ear to brush her cheek.

Their eyes meet a bar before Serena comes back in, just as she’s lifting her hands to the strings: Bernie doesn’t need to bring her in but she does, has done every time they’ve rehearsed, and Serena knows she’s using it as an excuse too. A smile tugs at Bernie’s lips but there’s something in her eyes, something deeper, that makes Serena’s breath catch in her throat and her fingers almost stumble over the first arpeggio she plays.

Their gazes don’t meet again until the end of the piece, until the final bar where Serena wrote sustained chords for most of the orchestra, just the tubular bells, glockenspiel and guitar moving over the top. Bernie gives them each quaver with slowing beats of her right hand, conducts the very last note – a single, soft, ringing harmonic – with just her eyes on Serena’s, holds her gaze even after she brings off the rest of the orchestra and lowers her hands.

Bernie looks away so she can stand the orchestra to receive their applause, gestures to Serena and then turns and ducks her head, the closest she’ll ever get to a bow. By the time she’s sat the students down again and closed the score, Serena is almost beside her. They share a look and a smile, a little brush of their fingers in thanks and praise and reassurance, and then return to their usual places – Serena front and centre, her face alight, Bernie at her right hand, head tilted towards her, eyes fixed on her in anticipation.

*

They’re last to leave the hall, bid goodnight to the final students and parents and breathe a joint sigh of relief as the door closes behind them. Serena reaches out a hand and Bernie goes to her willingly, catches at her chilly fingers and gently chafes them between her own.

‘Alright?’ Bernie asks softly.

‘Never better, love,’ Serena smiles. ‘I think I might let you do all the conducting next year,’ she adds with a wink. ‘Roaring success, you were.’

‘Please don’t,’ Bernie says fervently. ‘Three pieces was quite enough for me.’

‘You say that now…’ Serena teases.

‘You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.’

‘True,’ Serena concedes. ‘It is rather nice to share the duties though, to co-lead the concert.’

‘It is,’ Bernie agrees. She looks away from Serena at the sound of the door opening behind her, and smiles at the cleaner. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

They pick up their respective instruments and then, free hands clasped again, step outside. A few flakes of snow swirl around them; it’s been drizzling on and off all day and they won’t settle on the damp ground, but it’s snow nonetheless.

Ignoring the biting chill Bernie stops, pulling Serena to a standstill beside her. ‘This is where we first met,’ she says when Serena turns to her, her breath pluming in the air between them. ‘Me lost and you with a broken xylophone, off to charm some poor unsuspecting technician into fixing it for you.’

‘And look at us now,’ Serena smiles. ‘Managed to charm myself a gorgeous blonde into my department _and_ my bed.’

‘I love you, Serena,’ Bernie murmurs, moving close enough to kiss her, her lips burning in the cold.

‘I love you too. Now, can we please get inside before my fingers freeze and I drop my guitar?’

Serena doesn’t wait for an answer, turns and tugs an unresisting Bernie towards the music building and straight to the office, only letting go of her hand for them to pack their instruments safely in their cases.

‘I love you,’ Bernie repeats, taking Serena’s cold fingers between hers and pressing her lips to them.

Serena slips her hands free and moves into Bernie’s embrace, looks over her shoulder and out of the window at the now-heavier snow. _It’s going to be icy in the morning,_ she thinks, inwardly groaning at the thought of having to get up earlier to allow for it.

‘One drink and then home?’ Bernie suggests.

Serena nods, stays nestled into her for a moment before taking a step back, shivering at the loss of Bernie’s warmth against her but warmed from within at Bernie’s words.

Wrapped up against the weather they lock their instruments in the office, guitar and cello side by side. Bernie flicks off the lights in the empty classroom as they pass through, waits for Serena to lock up and tuck her keys safely into her handbag and then reaches for her again. They walk towards Albie’s and their little music family, hand in now-gloved hand, Serena pressed into Bernie’s side, glad of her hat as snowflakes land in Bernie’s hair, sparkling under the street lights.

Serena sighs happily. Tonight she will go home with Bernie, curl up beside her in bed, fall asleep in her arms – just like she does every night. Tomorrow they’ll wake up together, drive into work together, support each other through the pressure of the last day of term. And then they’ll go home together again, finish preparing for their first Christmas living together. They’ll cook and eat, recipes from the new Nigella book Serena gave Bernie as an early present, laugh and kiss and generally make merry, with their family around them. And there’ll be music, of course, because there’s always music in their house.

 _Music and love_ , Serena thinks, stealing a glance at Bernie as she reaches for the door to hold it open for her. Serena smiles at her glowing eyes and flushed cheeks, ghosts a kiss to her lips as she brushes past her and steps into the warm, noisy pub. _Always music and love._

She still hasn’t finished Bernie’s song, returns to it semi-regularly and scribbles down new ideas on an almost weekly basis, hears fragments she wants to include every day but can’t quite fit them all together. Perhaps she never will – but perhaps it doesn’t matter. Somehow Bernie seeps into everything Serena writes now, a constant presence, a constant muse: the cadence of her voice, the rhythm of her steps, the way she makes Serena feel. Their love is immortalised in every piece of music Serena has written this year, even if none of them is dedicated to Bernie.

 _Well anyway,_ Serena thinks as they sit opposite Raf and Fletch, Bernie’s hand instantly coming to rest on her thigh. _I’ve got the rest of our lives to perfect it._

Serena squeezes Bernie’s hand, with her other picks up her glass. ‘Here’s to another successful carol concert.’

‘And many more to come,’ Bernie adds.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Serena smiles, as four glasses clink. And does, her eyes fixed on Bernie’s, the perpetual thread of their music continuing to play, unbroken, in her mind. _Many, many more._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art: concerto for two (hopeless hearts just passing through)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162590) by [Kayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayryn/pseuds/Kayryn)




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